Harry Potter and the Lord of Darkness
by Jarlaxle Baenre
Summary: Harry is turning seventeen... what does his seventh year in the world of magic hold in store for him? He must find the remaining Horcruxes and defeat He Who Must Not Be Named... or else. Gets better in later chapters, 'cause my writing's improved... a ton
1. One Last Time

Chapter One

One Last Time

His trunk was packed, his owl in her cage. Harry Potter was leaving the Dursleys' for the last time.

In the semi-darkness of predawn, a skinny seventeen-year-old boy with black hair and green eyes glasses dressed silently. His uncle's snores reverberated from across the landing outside, a familiar sound that Harry would be only to glad to be rid of.

The alarm clock on the dresser showed six thirty-six a.m. Harry glanced at it, and then he pulled on his overlarge sweater and a pair of tennis shoes. He didn't even bother combing his hair; it never made a difference anyway.

He crossed to the desk and picked up a large bird cage with a sleeping white owl inside it. She opened one eye sleepily and hooted before putting her head beneath her wing. Harry carried it over to where his trunk sat, waiting for him to take it somewhere.

He opened the door and carried Hedwig, his owl, downstairs and placed the cage on the floor. He ran back upstairs, skipping the bottom step (it squeaked), and five minutes later returned with his trunk, his broomstick balancing precariously on top of it. Then he sat down in the sitting room to wait.

From his pocket he pulled a piece of parchment paper with rather sloppy writing sprawled across it. He read it once again, smiling slightly. It was a letter from his best friend, Ron Weasley.

_Harry-_

_Mum says you can come to our house whenever you're ready. I guess that because Dumbledore said that you need to stay at your aunt and uncle's until your birthday, that it won't be until sometime next week. We can come get you on your birthday if you want us to. Hermione's here, too. Answer me fast!_

_-Ron _

Harry read it several times through, enjoying the knowledge that he would be seeing Ron in barely five minutes.

At exactly six forty-five, there came a soft knock on the door. Harry crossed silently to open it.

Outside stood a tall, gangly teenager with flaming orange hair and freckles, a young lady with bushy brown hair, and a woman with a pale, heart-shaped face and bubble-gum pink hair. The last one grinned. "Wotcher, Harry."

He smiled back. "Hi, Tonks. 'Lo, Ron, Hermione."

Hermione couldn't restrain herself any longer. She flung her arms around his neck and hugged him, hard. "Oh, Harry, it's so good to see you! Happy birthday!"

He patted her back awkwardly, looking over her shoulder at Ron, who was grinning lopsidedly. "Happy Birthday, mate."

"Thanks. Good to see you," Harry said, pushing Hermione gently away. "Try not to suffocate me, okay Hermione?"

She flushed. "Sorry. I didn't mean to."

He smiled. "I know. I was joking."

"Well, Harry, are you ready?" Tonks asked.

He nodded. She stepped across the doormat and into the Dursleys' front room. "We'll just send these along, then," she said, waving her wand at his trunk and owl cage. They vanished into thin air.

"What in tarnation was that?"

All four of them jumped.

Uncle Vernon was standing there, purple faced in his striped pajamas, with a bony Aunt Petunia cowering behind him. Tonks turned towards them. "Sorry to disturb you, Mr. Dursley. We were just taking your nephew…"

She gestured at Harry, who sighed. He had hoped to leave without telling the Dursleys; it would have helped to avoid a pointless confrontation. It wasn't like they'd miss him anyway.

"I'm leaving," he said shortly, "and I'm not coming back."

At that moment, Harry's massive cousin, Dudley, came waddling around the corner and stopped short at the sight of Harry's escort. He dropped the half of a donut he held in his hand and clapped his palms over his fat buttocks, backing out of the room in horror. Tonks, whose attention had been briefly diverted, turned back to Uncle Vernon. "We'll be taking care of him from now on. You'll never have to see him again."

There was a stunned silence. Then Uncle Vernon barked, "Well, be off with you, then."

Hermione turned to Harry. "We're Apparating," she told him.

"But I'm haven't passed my Apparition test," he said.

"You'll Side-Along with me," Tonks said. "Hold my arm. Got a good grip? Okay then, let's go. One…"

"Goodbye," Harry said jovially.

"Two…"

"I won't be seeing you," he told them.  
"Three!"

The Dursleys' living room disappeared. Harry felt as though thick, black bands were squeezing his chest, arms, legs, and head, and he couldn't see anything, until, barely seconds later, he collapsed on the lawn in front of the Burrow, his second favorite place in the world.


	2. Back to the Burrow

Chapter Two

Back at the Burrow

Harry rolled over just as Hermione appeared with a loud _crack_ next to him. Hermione, more experienced at Apparition, managed to remain on her feet next to Tonks. Ron appeared a split second later, stumbling, but not falling. Tonks reached down to help Harry up.

"Thanks," he said, brushing off the knees of his pants. He looked up at the house above him, old and held up by magic, and grinned. He was back.

Tonks led the way inside, saying, "Molly made me come with them to get you. She was afraid you'd get into some kind of trouble…. Don't ask me why she'd say a something like that." She winked. "After all, none of you have ever put a toe across the line."

Harry grinned. "What, us? Never!"

Ron opened the front door and stepped into the hall. "Mum, we're back!"

Seconds later, Mrs. Weasley, a plump, kind woman with hair as red as her son's, came bustling around the corner and enfolded Harry in a back-breaking hug. "Oh, Harry, I'm glad you're safe," she said into his hair. "Go into the kitchen, dear, there's breakfast on the table."

Harry obliged, following his nose to the smell of eggs and bacon, as Mrs. Weasley said to Tonks, "Thank you so much for going with them. I would have been worried out of my skin if you hadn't. Wouldn't you like to stay for breakfast?"

"No, I can't, Molly, I'm sorry. I've got some business at the Ministry to take care of. They say they're on Dolohov's tail- completely bogus, of course, meant to draw us away from him, but they want me there for the briefing anyway."

Harry entered the kitchen to see Bill and Ginny Weasley and Fleur Delacour seated at the table, engaged in a conversation about Quidditch. Well, Ginny and Bill engaged in a conversation about Quidditch, and Fleur gazing happily at Bill. They looked up as Ron, Harry, and Hermione came in.

Harry hadn't seen Bill for nearly a month. The bloody gashes that had crossed his face then were now mostly healed, but the scars were thick and wide. His appearance would have startled any Muggle child, but Harry grinned.

Fleur jumped up and ran towards them. She kissed Harry on both cheeks, saying, "Oh, 'Arry, eet ees so good to see you! You are looking well!"

Harry, rather nonplussed, said, "Hello, Fleur."

She returned to her seat, her face shining. Harry shook Bill's hand, and then he finally looked at Ginny.

He could only hope that she wasn't angry with him for what had happened at the end of the summer. Her fiery eyes, however, weren't shining with anger, but with a sad sort of longing. He smiled timidly. "'Lo, Ginny."

"Hi," she said, returning to her bacon. "Come have something to eat."

Not about to argue, Harry occupied the empty seat next to her and began heaping his plate with eggs.

"Anyway," Bill said, continuing the conversation that Harry had interrupted, "they're trying to repair the damage, but it's costing thousands of Galleons. They can't find any evidence of sabotage, but… well, it's obvious, isn't it? A hundred Muggles dead. Who could it be besides You-Know-Who?"

"What happened?" Harry asked apprehensively as Hermione entered and sat down across the table from him. He hadn't read the paper the day before because he had been preoccupied with packing.

Bill sighed and rubbed his eyes. "A hundred Muggles were killed in a… what do they call them? Air-birds? Those big machines that fly the Muggles around?"

"Airplanes," Harry told him.

"Yeah, one of those. It came down over Madrid, killed all the ones in the plane and some on the ground, too. They think it's a terrorist attack, but we know better, even if we can't prove it. The Ministry got to the scene before the Muggles, which was a mistake because the Muggles saw them doing their spells to try to get anyone else out alive. It's costing a ton of money to wipe all the memories and clean up the mess."

There was a long silence, in which Ron could be heard telling his mother out in the hall that he didn't _want_ to degnome the garden so soon after Harry had arrived. He slumped in a moment later, looking dejected, and plopped down next to Harry, who consolingly dumped a heaping spoonful of eggs onto his plate.

Bill looked down at his plate. "Have you been getting the _Prophet_, Harry?"

He nodded glumly.

"Then you know what it's like. He's gathering power again. He's got tons of supporters. People keep ending up dead, murdered brutally, with no trail left. Or if there is one, it's false. Ever since Dumbledore died, we haven't made any progress."

Harry felt a lump rise in his throat at the mention of Dumbledore's name. He hastily lowered his gaze to his plate so that no one would see the tears forming in his eyes.

When he had managed to push them back, he looked back up and noticed the _Daily Prophet_ sitting next to Hermione's plate. "Can I see that, Hermione?"

She handed it to him. The front page displayed a black-and-white picture of Hogwarts. The title read, "Continued Debate Over the Closure of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."

Harry sighed. All summer long, the school's Board of Governors had been at loggerheads, fighting about whether or not to close Hogwarts. It didn't matter very much to Harry, for he didn't intend to return, but he still believed that, despite Dumbledore's death, Hogwarts was the safest place to be.

Mrs. Weasley came in just as Ron helped himself to seconds on bacon. She crossed to the sink to begin washing the dishes. "Ron, I want you out in the garden in five minutes. Your father is going to be home soon, and I want the garden degnomed when he gets here.

"Dad's coming home?" Ron said, looking up from his eggs. "How come?"

"He didn't say. Eat fast so you can get out there."

"Eat fast so you can get out there," Ron mimicked in a high voice, but quietly enough that only Harry could hear.

They finished their eggs and bacon, cleared their places, and made their way out to the garden. Mrs. Weasley made sure that Harry and Hermione knew that they didn't have to help, but they chose to anyway. It had been a while since Harry had degnomed a garden.

The gnomes looked like large potatoes with legs and long white beards. Ron picked one up by the leg and hung it upside down, making a face. "I think we should just get rid of these things for good."

He grasped its beard, whirled it in a circle over his head, and let it fly. "Bet you can't get further than that, Harry," he said, grinning.

The next hour was spent in a world without death, mysterious murders, escaped criminals, or Lord Voldemort. For one precious hour, they were twelve years old again, degnoming the garden with Fred and George.

_"Wow, Harry, that must have been fifty feet!"_

Harry smiled at the memory of George's words. Happy for the first time since the summer started, Harry trudged back inside, muddy and weary, but grinning broadly.

Mr. Weasley was sitting at the kitchen counter, an untouched cup of coffee sitting before him. At the look on his face, Harry's smile disappeared.

"Hello, Harry," he said unenthusiastically as the three of them entered.

"What's wrong, Dad?" Ron inquired apprehensively.

Mr. Weasley let out a long breath. "They've closed the Ministry for today."

"Why?" Harry asked.

He hesitated a moment before answering. "Rufus Scrimgeour was found murdered about an hour and a half ago."

Harry heard Hermione's sharp intake of breath and Ron's moan, but they didn't register to him. He hadn't known Scrimgeour well at all, but they had met more than once. It was a horrible feeling, knowing that someone he had talked to, someone he had walked with was dead. Just like Sirius, just like Dumbledore, like Emeline Vance, like Madam Bones… like his parents.

The rest of the day passed in a trance-like state. The household was abnormally serious. Bill and Fleur disappeared outside, and Ginny, Harry, Ron, and Hermione played four-way wizard's chess, but no one's mind was really on the game. This became evident when Ron moved his queen in the path of Harry's bishop in his distraction and even more so when Harry didn't see the move. Ron won, but didn't really care at all.

Dinner that night was a very subdued affair. Even Fleur stared glumly at her food. All of them were grouped around the table, eating a delicious vegetable soup that Mrs. Weasley had prepared, but no one really tasted it.

Harry had hardly touched his soup. He moved his spoon around in the bowl, but never brought it up to his mouth. Bill had attempted a conversation with him, but he hadn't really paid attention, and the Bill had fallen silent once again.

His mind was whirling. He had spent the first two months of summer scheming, plotting, thinking, and it had all seemed so easy to him then. But now, restored to the wizarding world after weeks of living with Muggles, it was all real again. Dumbledore and Sirius were really dead, and now Rufus Scrimgeour was, too. He had thought it wouldn't be too hard to track down the Horcruxes, but he knew now that he was wrong.

Mrs. Weasley interrupted his thoughts. "I'm sorry your birthday's been so dreary, Harry dear. I thought I'd spruce it up a bit."

She waved her wand and a humongous birthday cake appeared amid the dishes, and, written inblue icing sprawled across the top were the words, "Happy Birthday, Harry."

Harry put on a strained smile, which he was sure looked more like a grimace. "Thanks a ton, Mrs. Weasley. This is more than the Dursleys ever gave me."

He forced the cake down, despite the fact that he didn't feel hungry. Everyone had a piece, then leaned back in their chairs and managed to strike up a conversation.

Harry didn't listen. He had made up his mind in the last two minutes to do something that hadn't seriously crossed his mind since before starting his fifth year at Hogwarts.

"I'm going to join the Order."

A hush swept across the table as everyone looked at him. He gazed back at their astonished faces, his brilliant green eyes burning with an unquenchable fire.

"I'm sorry, dear," Mrs. Weasley said in a rather optimistic voice, "I must have misheard you."

"I'm going to join the Order of the Pheonix," he told them resolutely. "I'm ready to join."

Mrs. Weasley shook her head. "I know that everything that's happened recently has got you worked up a bit, Harry, but..."

"Molly," Mr. Weasley interjected softly, "he means it."

Harry stared around at the dumbstruck faces of the people he knew so well. Bill's was screwed up in consternation, looking as though he was about to argue. A look of sheer horror had occupied Fleur's face, and Ginny was practically glaring at him, her gaze trying to forbid him from carrying out what he had just said. Hermione looked torn between tears and calm acceptance, but Ron's face was determinedly set, his eyes blazing. Harry nearly started crying in gratitude to this, his best friend; Ron would follow him to the ends of the earth if he asked it.

Mrs. Weasley started sobbing into her husband's shoulder. Mr. Weasley held her and stroked her hair, turning to look solemnly at Harry.

"I don't need to lecture you about how big a decision this is, Harry. You've seen, you've heard, you've _felt_ the things that can come about from joining the Order. But I want you to tell me if this is what you really want to do. It's a lifelong dedication, Harry. And if you join, your life might not turn out to be very long."

Harry was silent for a moment, and then he said, "My life will be in no more danger if I join than it is now. Voldemort wants to kill me, member of the Order or not."

"You're right, I suppose."

Harry didn't know why he was doing it. He never wanted to return to number twelve, Grimauld Place again; the memory of Sirius, pacing the halls in frustration, haunted him constantly, and he knew he would have to go there if he joined the Order. But it made him feel like he was doing something, trying to carry on the noble cause for which Sirius and Dumbledore had died.

"Alright, then, Harry," Mr. Weasley said, still trying to comfort his wife, "If you want me to, I'll take you to London tomorrow morning."


	3. The Order of the Phoenix

Chapter Three

The Order of the Phoenix

After excusing himself from the dinner table, Harry trudged up to Ron's room and collapsed on the spare bed. He was still stunned at his own decision, but was sure that it was what he wanted to do.

The reason he hadn't seriously considered it previously was that he felt that as a member of the Order, he would have no freedom, being required to do what they wanted of him and not what he thought was best. But somehow he was sure now that the others realized that Harry knew more than anyone about Dumbledore's doings before his death. They knew that Dumbledore had confided in him, and all summer he had been receiving letters from various Order members trying to leech the secret out of him. But he had held firm, and he was sure that only he, Ron, and Hermione knew of the existence of the Horcruxes. They would aid him however they could and try not to hinder him with jobs someone else could do.

Harry lay there until the room was dark, but he didn't bother to get up and light a lamp. He was thinking about the things he would need to complete the task he had given himself.

His thoughts were interrupted, however, by Ron and Hermione, who knocked softly on the door before entering. He sat up and smiled wanly at them.

"Harry," Hermione began, perching edgily on the bed next to him, "we want to talk to you."

"About what?" he asked, though he thought he had a pretty good idea.

Ron answered his question, his eyes filled with that bright, determined look again. "We want you to know that… that we'll follow you anywhere. We're going to join the Order, too."

Harry had known that they were going to say this. He also knew it would be pointless to try and persuade them otherwise.

"Harry," said Hermione. Her eyes were red and slightly puffy. She had been crying. "We want to help you, and I think we can, but you have to let us. I know you don't want us to, I know you don't want us to get involved in anything that could hurt us, but what kind of friends would we be if we just stood here and watched while you went and risked your neck to save the world? You can't stop us, Harry. You know that."

"I know," he said softly. "Thank you. You can't know how much that means."

At these words, she burst into tears and turned to Harry to cry into his shoulder. Ron looked rather disgruntled.

"We're going to the Ministry with you tomorrow," he told Harry. "We told dad. He didn't like it, but he said it was our choice. I still have to tell Mum, though. She's already hysterical about you joining; I hate to see what she'll be like when I tell her we are, too."

Harry didn't want to see her either. That would make a total of seven of the family in the Order, including Fred and George, who worked for the Order when they could find time away from their business, and Mrs. Weasley was sure not to like it.

Hermione's sobs slowly receded into sniffles, Harry patting her on the back and Ron looking jealously on. When she had ceased crying, Harry stood and crossed to where his trunk, owl cage, and broom had been deposited by Tonks' transportation spell. Hedwig was gazing at him with large, amber eyes. He opened the cage and carried her to the window, where she took off and glided into the night.

Feeling a sudden movement in the lower regions of his body, he announced, "I've got to go to the bathroom. I'll be right back."

Ron nodded and Hermione sniffled. Harry shut the door behind him and walked down the hallway.

After he had relieved his bladder, he crossed back to Ron's room, but stopped outside the door, listening silently to the conversation inside.

"I don't know what to do, Ron," Hermione's voice sobbed. "I want to join the Order, but how can I leave school? I need a decent education to get a job in this world, but if the Order of the Phoenix doesn't win, there won't be much of a world to get a job in."

"I know," said Ron, in the tenderest voice Harry had ever heard him use. "I'm scared, too."

"And Harry… Harry didn't even have to think twice. He knows where his loyalties lie, and he didn't even consider changing them when the opportunity came. I can't be like that, Ron, I just can't. I can't."

"Harry admires you, too," Ron told her. "You're one of his two best friends, and for a reason. And you got sorted into Gryffindor, didn't you?"

"I'm not sure I should have," she whimpered, barely audible to Harry, standing out in the dark hallway. "Ravenclaw would have b-been better for me. I've never done anything noteworthy."

"Yes you have," Ron said forcefully. "We never even would have got past our first year if you didn't figure out what potion to use. And it was your research that tipped us off about the basilisk. And without the Timeturner and your fast thinking, I don't know where we'd be."

"It was Dumbledore's thinking," she told him. "He's the one who came up with the idea."

"But you were brave enough to carry it out. Hermione, bravery isn't always what you think it is. Sometimes it's just having the courage to forge on through life, against all the trials you have. And you've never quit."

She was silent for a moment, and the she said quietly, "Thanks, Ron."

Harry thought that this would be a good time to interrupt their conversation. As he found out a split second later, however, he was horribly wrong.

The two of them were sitting on the bed, kissing each other. They broke off when the door opened and glanced up. Ron turned bright red and buried his head in his hands, but Hermione glared at him with a fierce defiance, as though she thought he would hate them for it.

"It's okay," he said, shrugging. "Go ahead."

He walked out again and shut the door behind him. Trying to keep from grinning, he descended a floor to Ginny's room.

He knocked softly. Her voice told him to come in.

She looked up, surprised. She was curled on her bed, reading a book. "Where are Ron and Hermione?"

"Upstairs," he told her, entering and shutting the door. "I thought they might need some privacy."

Ginny grinned wickedly. "They've been wanting it more and more lately."

He sat down on the edge of her bed. "What are you reading?" he asked.

She showed him the cover. "Quidditch Through the Ages."

"Oh." There was a moment of silence.

Ginny cleared her throat, but hesitated, as though trying to find the right words. "Harry," her voice was rather strained, as though she were on the verge of tears. "I still don't understand why… why we can't be together."

Harry's smile slipped sideways off his face. "It's for some stupid, noble reason," he told her.

She laughed bitterly (his stomach did a flip). "I think it's a _very_ stupid reason."

And with that, she sat up and kissed him.

His mind told him that he should resist, but his body wouldn't obey. He knew that every second they spent locked in each other's embrace was another second for Voldemort to find his biggest weakness and exploit it, but he couldn't pull away. He kissed her back.

When they finally broke apart, she was glaring at him fiercely. "I love you, Harry Potter, and don't you forget it." She sounded almost exactly like her mother.

"I won't, Ginny," he promised. "I won't."

Mr. Weasley shook him and Ron awake before the sun had risen. Harry sat up groggily and pushed his glasses onto his nose. Ron rolled over and groaned, said something about blue cabbages and the giant squid, and resumed snoring. Harry grinned and threw his pillow at him. "Good morning, sunshine."

Ron sat up blearily and threw the pillow back, missing his target by about five feet. "I'm up," he said, nearly falling out of bed in his attempt to stand up.

Ten minutes later, the two of them entered the kitchen, still blinking sleep out of their eyes. Hermione was already there, with her hair combed and everything. She smiled. "Good morning, sleepyheads. Have some breakfast."

Harry helped himself to a stack of toast and marmalade and sat between Mr. Weasley and Hermione. Ron occupied the chair on her other side.

Between bites, Mr. Weasley explained that they'd be using Floo Powder to get to number twelve, Grimauld Place, from where he would Apparate to the Ministry of Magic. They were to find Minerva McGonagall, Remus Lupin, or Mad-Eye Moody and speak to them privately.

Mrs. Weasley came into the kitchen just as they were finishing up. She looked as though she had been crying. Ron had gone to her the previous night to break the news to her, and from his report, she had expected it but hadn't taken it too well. She hugged them all fiercely, rumpled Harry's hair, and attempted to rub a spot of dirt off of Ron's nose. "Mum," he grumbled, "it's okay. We'll be back tonight, I promise."

They were almost ready to go when Harry remembered something he had forgotten to do. Claiming he had left his wand upstairs, he ran up to Ginny's room. She was still sleeping. In her hand he placed a chocolate frog card, one with a picture of Elizabeth Trolovski, the witch responsible for inventing the love potion. Kissing her on the cheek, he went back downstairs.

Everyone was standing by the fireplace, waiting for him. "Alright then, here we go," said Mr. Weasley, taking a pinch of Floo powder from a flowerpot and throwing it into the flames. They turned emerald green, and he stepped inside. "Number twelve, Grimauld Place!" he shouted, and then he was gone in a rush of warm air.

Ron went next, followed by Hermione, then Harry. Harry remembered to tuck his elbows in as he felt the familiar whirling sensation and watched hundreds of fireplaces flash by.

He tumbled out of the kitchen fireplace and landed on his side, at the feet of Ron, Hermione, and Mr. Weasley. The latter offered him a hand, which he accepted, and pulled him to his feet.

Brushing himself off, he looked up to see a bemused Remus Lupin, sitting at the table and pouring over a stack of papers. As Harry stood up, he seemed to come to his senses; he waved his wand and the papers vanished. He stood as well, crossing to shake Mr. Weasley's hand, but looking with an odd expression at Harry. As soon as he had relinquished his grip, he turned to look at three friends. "Well, Arthur, I assume you have to get to work, but do you want to tell me what you lot are doing here?"

"I've got to run, Remus. I'll let them tell you. Goodbye, Ron, Hermione, Harry. Take care." With a loud crack, Mr. Weasley Disapparated.

Lupin still had an odd expression on his face. Harry thought that he had a pretty good idea of why they had come.

"I think I know why you're here," he said slowly, as if to confirm Harry's suspicions. "Come with me."

Harry, Hermione, and Ron followed him (on tiptoe) through the hall and up the stairs to the drawing room. Harry recoiled from the memories that sprang up every time they rounded a corner; Sirius, closing the curtains over his mother's portrait, Sirius tapping his hand with his wand after being infected by Wartcap powder, Sirius throwing Kreacher- horrible, filthy, _traitorous_ Kreacher- out of the drawing room. He hated this place, hated it with all his heart, and yet he still wanted to join the organization that had its headquarters here. He thought that maybe the Killing Curse that had failed to kill him had at least addled his brain.

Lupin tapped lightly on the drawing room door, and a rough voice growled, "Come in, Remus. And bring Granger, Weasley, and Potter with you."

Lupin opened the door and beckoned the three of them inside. Mad-Eye Moody sat at the desk, writing on a piece of parchment. As they entered, his magical eye whirled around to look at them.

"So you want to join the Order, do you?"


	4. Induction

Chapter Four

Induction

"So, you want to join the Order, now do you?"

Moody's normal eye remained aimed at the paper on which he was vigorously writing, but his magical eye zoomed up to look at the three of them, standing rather sheepishly in the doorway. Harry decided to take the initiative. "Yes, Prof- sir," he corrected himself (he had never quite gotten out of the habit of calling him Professor). "We want to join."

Grumbling, Moody stood up and limped over to the doorway, leading them once more down into the hall, but he didn't take them into the kitchen. Instead, he veered into a room that was usually used for the secret meetings of the Order. Harry was beginning to get excited.

Moody ushered them inside, then stumped in and closed the door after them. There was a round table in the middle of the room, at which were seated seven people. Minerva McGonagall sat next to Kingsley Shakelbolt, who was listening Hestia Jones. On her other side sat Mundungus Fletcher, snoring gently and being prodded awake by Elphias Dodge, a wheezy, white-haired wizard who had come to escort Harry from the Dursleys' the summer before his fifth year at Hogwarts. Sturgis Podmore, only recently released from Azkaban for a crime he had been forced to commit by a Death Eater, sat on Dodge's other side. Next to him was Tonks, who was leaning back on two legs in her chair. As they entered, all seven looked up, looked back down, and then did a double-take.

"Alastor!" Professor McGonagall scolded, gathering up stacks of papers on the table and waving her wand at them to make them vanish, "you could have given us some warning! They can't see these things!"

"They want to join the Order, Minerva," Moody growled.

McGonagall looked sharply at them, and then he sighed. "I might have guessed as much. Very well, come in, come in, all of you."

Lupin took up a seat beside Tonks, who smiled at him, and then gazed up at Harry, Ron, and Hermione. McGonagall stood up, ushering them all to sit down. When they looked comfortable, she began.

"Normally," she said, looking between the three of them, "I would lecture you lot as to the importance of this decision. However," she said, her eyes landing on Harry, "I don't believe that you need it. You all know what can happen; Sirius Black, Emeline Vance, Dumbledore, and… Potter, your own parents have died because they chose to pursue this endeavor."

She appeared not to be able to speak for a moment, and Harry could see tears welling up behind her glasses, but she sniffed them away. "So, Weasley, Granger, Potter, I'm going to ask you one question. Do you want to join the Order?"

Harry was still for a moment. Did he? Of course he did! He'd already pointed out to Mr. Weasley that he would be in no more danger in the Order than out! But then, why was he having second thoughts?

Coming up with no reason other than nervousness, he added his nod to those of Ron and Hermione.

"Well, then," McGonagall said, in a rather subdued voice, "I am required by the rules Dumbledore laid down to give you each a dose of Veritaserum, to be sure that your intentions are pure."

"Veritaserum?" Harry said, startled. "If they've used Veritaserum on all the members of the Order, how did Snape get-"

"Veritaserum, Potter," her voice regaining its familiar cold edge, "is not one hundred percent reliable. Like the Imperius Curse, an accomplished wizard can overcome it. Snape was a skilled Occlumens, and was therefore probably able to block out the impulses that compelled him to speak the truth."

Harry dimly remembered Dumbledore telling him something of the sort.

"Anyway, I do not believe any of you have even felt the effects of the potion, let alone learned how to overcome it. And even if it weren't so, I'd trust your word. But they're Dumbledore's orders."

"Dumbledore is dead, Minerva," Elphias Dodge rasped.

"He never said to stop following his orders if he died," she said fiercely, smiling slightly at Harry.

Mad-Eye Moody conjured up a tray that hovered in midair, bearing three glasses of pumpkin juice. From her robes, McGonagall withdrew a tiny vial with clear liquid in it and dropped three drops into each glass.

Harry took one and drained it. The Veritaserum was tasteless, and he didn't feel any different… at first.

About fifteen seconds after he had finished the glass of pumpkin juice, his mind started going rather blurry, and it seemed as though he had no control over his thoughts.

The first thing she asked was, "Are you a Death Eater?"

Without instruction from his brain, his mouth replied, "No."

"Are you associated with Death Eaters or passing information to them?"

"No," his mouth said again. But then the tiny corner of his mind that remained his thought, Why shouldn't I lie? He told himself, Because I wouldn't be able to join the order. But he discovered that, whether he wanted it or not, he had control of his mouth again. It still answered, "Yes," when McGonagall asked whether he was willing to dedicate whatever he could to the cause, but he knew that if he had wanted to, he could have made it say no.

But he didn't want to, of course, so he let his mouth tell McGonagall the truth. Hermione went next, and then Ron. It took about a half an hour for the potion to wear off (of course, Harry's perception of time might have been rather distorted). They sat at the table, staring off into space unless someone asked them a question, which they answered quite truthfully.

Harry felt his thoughts and his mouth become truly his again just as McGonagall was waving away the papers which she had extracted again in order to wait for them to recover. She stood up when he shook his head and blinked several times.

"Well, Potter, Weasley, Granger, you've all passed," she said grimly, "and your lives are now forfeit to You-Know-Who because you have officially joined his enemies.

Everyone else had gone, except for Moody, Lupin and Tonks, the last two of whom were holding hands. They all had bleak looks on their faces, and that was when it really hit Harry.

He hadn't understood how big a deal this was until now. True, his life was in no more danger now that it had been before, but it suddenly felt like it was. People had _died_ for this cause, and Harry had just pledged to fight to the death for it if it was required of him. The realization didn't change his mind, but it impressed upon him the importance of what he was doing.

And the grim faces around him made him realize that they cared. They cared what happened to him and what he did and whether or not he died, and not just because it had been foretold that he was the only one who would be able to defeat Voldemort. They cared… because they loved him.

Harry thought of his parents. They had died, as McGonagall had pointed out, and they had died trying to save him. He wasn't about to go and let himself get killed after they had given their lives for him. James could have hid, Lily could have run, but they chose to defend their son.

It was that which made his life worth living.

A/N: I know that last part was kinda cheesy, and the chapter wasn't that long or great and their induction into the Order wasn't very… I dunno, realistic. I'm sorry, I'm trying to get past all the boring stuff to the part where… oh, wait, I can't tell you. That'd ruin the whole thing. My point is, don't stop reading just because this chapter stank like rotten garbage. There are better ones coming, I promise.


	5. Dark Arts and Disappearances

Chapter Five

Dark Arts and Disappearances

A/N: Don't worry; the stuff that happens in this chapter isn't nearly as dire as the title makes it sound.

"Potter, I would like to speak to you alone a moment."

Harry obediently followed Professor McGonagall out to the hall, rather curious. She shut the door and surveyed him rather sternly. After a moment of silence, she spoke. "I have a proposition to make you."

Harry's brow furrowed in surprise, but he said nothing, nodding to show that he understood.

"As you well know, this summer has been a mess of debates over the closure of Hogwarts. I'm going to tell you something that has been decided within the last ten hours and has not yet been disclosed to the public. The Board of Governors has reached a decision. The school will remain open."

Harry smiled wanly. He wasn't planning on returning, but he still remained convinced that Hogwarts was the safest place for anyone.

She hesitated a moment, as though choosing her words very carefully. "I have watched you, Harry, closer than you ever realized. I was particularly impressed by your performance in your fifth year, when you had" –here her lips narrowed and her voice filled with suppressed anger- "an _incompetent_ Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. You took it upon yourself to study them on your own, and you did a marvelous job of teaching all the others who wanted to learn."

Harry didn't know what to make of this; compliments from Professor McGonagall were extremely rare. He failed to see where this conversation was headed.

"Now, as headmistress of the school, it is my duty to find occupants to fill vacant posts. As of last month, I once again find myself in need of a Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher."

It took a while for what she was hinting at to process. When it did, his mouth dropped open. "_Me?_" he managed to croak.

She smiled slightly. "Yes, you, Potter. I've wracked my brains for hours and I can't think of anyone available I could trust to do a more efficient job."

"You want me to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts."

"Yes."

"At Hogwarts."

"Yes, Potter, at Hogwarts."

"Professor," he stammered, unsure of what to say, "I can't- I don't…"

"I believe that you would find yourself more than competent."

"Professor, I-"

"In return," she said, cutting across his stutters, "I promise to cease hounding you about Dumbledore's work before his death, and I will help you in anyway I can to continue it. And I'll trust your judgment."

Harry managed to smile. He had received a minimum of six letters asking him to reveal his knowledge of what Dumbledore had been doing before he died, and he was only a month into the summer. It was worth taking the job just for that.

He hesitated only a moment before making his decision. "I'll do it," he said.

Her eyes widened; she obviously hadn't expected him to accept. After she got over her shock, she straightened her glasses and said, "Thank you, Harry." And she was sincerely grateful. "I'll inform you of the details sometime before school starts, after I get them figured out myself."

Five minutes later, up in the room which Harry and Ron had occupied two summers ago, Harry told them about their conversation. Ron's mouth dropped open and Hermione squealed.

"Oh, Harry, that's wonderful! You'll be able to teach young wizards to defend themselves! You'll do a marvelous job!"

And she kissed him on the cheek.

Ron looked rather disgruntled, but then she sat on the bed beside him, and his expression cleared. "We're coming with you, mate. We can finish out our last year and help you besides."

Hermione positively beamed; Harry knew that it had been a tough decision to leave school without getting her N.E.W.T.'s. Now she wouldn't have to give it up.

There came a soft tapping on the window. Harry glanced around; on the sill sat two brown owls, each with an identical letter tied to its leg. Ron opened the window, and they fluttered inside. One perched on Ron's shoulder and the other on Harry's knee.

Harry pulled the envelope off of its leg, and it took off again, alighting on top of the wardrobe. His name was written on the outside of the letter in very official looking writing, and the seal was one he recognized.

"It's from the Ministry," he said, turning it over, intrigued. "Wonder what I did this time…."

Dear Mr. Harry James Potter,

We are aware that you have recently come of age and have not yet taken your Apparition test. We ask that you appear at the Ministry of Magic at five o' clock p.m. on the fourth of August to be examined and, if circumstances permit, issued a license. If you do not intend to be licensed in Apparition, you cannot appear on the above-mentioned date, or there is some error, please contact us by return of owl.

Sincerely,

Anna Paulson 

Anna Paulson

Department of Post-School Education

Ron's letter was almost identical, the only difference being that it pointed out that he originally failed his Apparition test (which made him scowl). They looked at each other.

"I guess we'll go in, then?" Harry said.

"Yeah, yeah, I guess."

There was a moment of blank silence, and then Hermione burst out laughing.

The two of them stood there, utterly nonplussed. "What?" they asked in unison.

"You two are so thick!"

They looked at each other again. Ron shook his head, muttering, "Going back to school must have gotten to her."

"Definitely. It's really not funny."

She was giggling madly now. Ron patted her awkwardly on the back. "Gimme a break, Hermione. You can't be that excited."

She grinned. "Yes I can."

Harry shook his head, pulling Ron towards the door. "I think she needs an hour or two by herself. C'mon, mate, let's go find some food. I'm starving."

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO

Four days later, Harry and Ron found themselves waiting at the Burrow's fireplace, dressed in their best robes to go to the Ministry of Magic. Harry's nerves were mounting with every passing moment; he would be lucky if he didn't have a nervous breakdown before he actually managed to Apparate.

Mr. Weasley came out of the kitchen, the remains of a piece of buttered bread in his hand. Mrs. Weasley bustled in after him. She gave Harry and Ron each a hug. "Do well, boys. Good luck."

Mr. Weasley finished his toast, threw on his cloak, kissed his wife, and picked up the pot of Floo powder. The sun was on its way out of the sky; it was ten minutes to five o' clock. He offered the pot to Harry.

Harry took a pinch and threw it into the flames, which immediately turned emerald green. He stepped into the fireplace, enjoying the warm, tickling sensation, and said loudly and clearly (he didn't want to end up somewhere like Knockturn Alley again), "The Ministry of Magic!"

He remembered just in time to tuck his elbows in. He whirled past thousands of fireplaces, each with a different landscape beyond, and finally slowed and stopped at the biggest one he could ever remember passing. He stepped out into the well-lit, enormous room and was immediately hit by a blazing rush of memories.

The fountain that had depicted a wizard, a witch, a goblin, a centaur, and a house elf had been repaired, but the wizard, instead of looking weak and foolish, now looked determined and slightly sad. The witch no longer gazed at him with a soppy expression on her face, but looked out proudly at the room surrounding her. The centaur and the goblin both looked repulsed at having to be so near humans, but the house elf's countenance looked the same as ever. It was as though, when they had come alive more than a year ago, the real personalities of their races had taken over and refused to change.

Mr. Weasley led them to the security desk, where they were checked (for what, Harry had no idea) and their wands were determined safe (whatever that meant). The wizard at the desk was young and smiled a lot.

"Here for your Apparition tests?" he asked, smiling understandingly. They nodded.

"Down on the third floor and to your right," he said, returning Ron's wand.

(A/N- sorry to interrupt here, but I'm not going to describe the places that previous books have already been because I think it's a waste of everyone's time. I'm just going to assume you know everything that I make references to but don't explain fully. If you can't remember and really want to know, go reread the real books .)

Mr. Weasley led them to the lifts, out of which memos were zooming nonstop. Ron was gazing around with his mouth open; the only time he had been here, the place had been utterly deserted, and he hadn't seen the flurries of activities.

Five minutes later, they found themselves in front of a big door that said "Department of Apparition." Mr. Weasley knocked softly.

The door was opened by an old, skinny wizard with a beard to rival Dumbledore's. He nodded and ushered them inside. "Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley?" he asked in a wheezy voice.

"Yessir," Harry said.

"This way, then."

He led them through the first room- a bunch of desks with busy wizards working at them- and through a door in the far right corner. They followed him obediently inside.

It was a huge, empty room with white walls and soft carpet. The wizard said, "Someone will be with you in a moment."

They waited only two minutes before someone else appeared. He was a stocky young wizard with twinkling eyes and a kind smile.

"I'm Aidan Hirata. So you're both taking your Apparition tests today?"

They nodded.

"Alright then, shall we get started? Great. Who's older?"

Ron tentatively raised his hand.

"Ronald Weasley? You look like your dad," he said, nodding to Mr. Weasley. "Well, then, let's start. Can I have you Apparate to the far side of the room, please?"

Ron closed his eyes tightly and concentrated, then, with a loud crack, he disappeared, reappearing almost instantly across the huge room.

"Alright," Aidan called, making a note on a clipboard he carried, "Now come back over here.

When Ron had returned, Aidan said, "Alright then, Harry, your turn. Same thing, please."

Harry did as he was told. He felt for a moment as though black bands were squeezing his body mercilessly, then he landed with a thud and almost lost his balance, but managed to stay upright.

When he had returned, Aidan clapped his hands. "Okay, now we're going to try long-distance Apparition. I'm going to Apparate to Lima, Peru, on the corner of Calle de Santa Cruz and San Benjamin. Thirty seconds after I Disapparate, I want Ronald to Apparate to the same place. Thirty seconds after he goes, Harry, you come. Got it?"

They nodded.

With a loud crack, Aidan Disapparated. They counted for thirty seconds, and then Ron did the same. Harry counted, the seconds ticking away incredibly slowly. Then, when the time came, he concentrated hard, and Disapparated.

It was dark, and the intersection of the two streets was deserted. Aidan and Ron stood beside him.

"Now we have to Apparate back. Same drill. If you make this one, then you pass."

They repeated the pattern, and soon Harry found himself walking back through the huge office, newly certified for Apparition. Ron had passed as well, and he wore a smug little grin on his face all the way back to the Burrow.


	6. RAB

Chapter Six

R.A.B.

Harry cornered Hermione after dinner that night. "Hermione," he said, rather earnestly, "I need to start looking for the Horcruxes. I've already put it off for too long."

She bit her lip. "The Ministry of Magic has an enormous library, but I don't know how much help that would be. You might be able to find the history of the objects you're looking for, or perhaps even records of something Gryffindor or Ravenclaw owned. But a library won't help you find them.

"I have some guesses as to where to find them," Harry said shrewdly. He had thought a lot about it over the summer, and he had come up with a mental list of the places Voldemort could have hidden the Horcruxes.

She brightened considerably. "Oh, I'm so glad. I have absolutely no idea where I'd look for them. Well, we can go to the library, if you want. You'll be able to find something there, I'm sure."

"Your faith in the library will never fail, will it?" he asked, grinning.

They went up to Ron's room to wait for him (he had gone to the bathroom). Hermione sank onto the bed. "Where do you think they are, Harry?" she asked.

"Well, I'm pretty sure there's one in the Riddle House, where Voldemort killed his dad and grandparents. And I've thought about it, and I think there's one at Durmstrang because it's so famous for Dark Arts, and he worshiped them… And Hermione, even though Dumbledore didn't, I think there's one somewhere in Hogwarts."

She looked skeptical. "But the diary was there. He wouldn't hide two-"

"Lucius Malfoy gave the diary to Ginny. It wasn't originally at Hogwarts."

"Oh, right. I forgot."

"I need to search for them, and I have to start soon. I've decided that I'm going to the Riddle House tomorrow morning."

Her mouth dropped open. "Tomorrow? Oh, Harry, that's so soon!"

Ron came in. They briefed him on their conversation, and his reaction was very similar to Hermione's. They both, however, decided that they were going to go with him, and there was nothing he could do to change their minds.

They went back downstairs to have some of Mrs. Weasley's banana cream pie, and then the decided to retire. They all clunked up to their respective rooms.

It didn't take very long for Harry to fall asleep. He was exhausted; it had been a long day. He had strange dreams of teaching a bunch of centaurs in a Defense Against the Dark Arts class how to Apparate.

It was still dark when he was shaken awake. Mr. Weasley was standing over him. "Harry, the Order's having a meeting, and they want everyone there."

"A meeting?" he said groggily. "What time is it?"

"Quarter after one."

"In the morning?"

He could see Mr. Weasley's smile in the dim illumination from the moon. "No, in the afternoon."

Harry rolled over and pushed his glasses onto the bridge of his nose. Ron was dressing on the other side of the room.

"'I'm going to go wake Hermione," Mr. Weasley said as he left the room.

"Why's the Order having a meeting in the middle of the night?" Harry asked, dragging himself off of the bed.

Ron shrugged. "Dad said something about the new Minister of Magic, but I don't know why they couldn't wait ten more hours…"

Five minutes later found them downstairs with Hermione, Mrs. Weasley, and Mr. Weasley. He reached for the pot of Floo powder, but Mrs. Weasley laid a hand on his arm. "They can Apparate now, dear."

"Oh, right," he said, rather sheepishly.

"And anyway, we have to wait for Bill."

Bill came down two minutes later, his long hair a mess. His face looked even more distorted than usual in the shadow cast by the moon. He clapped his hands. "Everyone ready for our midnight meeting?"

"Just waiting for you, son," Mr. Weasley said briskly. And with that, he Disapparated.

Harry followed suit. Or, at least, he tried. The Apparition started normally, but about halfway through, Harry felt as though his destination was repelling him, and the process seemed to reverse. Indeed, when the squeezing sensation let up, he found himself back at the Burrow.

Mrs. Weasley, fortunately, was still there, and a moment later, Ron reappeared with a crack. "Don't try to Apparate directly into the house, dears," she said kindly. "It's been bewitched against that. Apparate in front of it."

"Hermione was obviously smart enough to foresee that, seeing as she's not here," Harry muttered, trying again.

This time he found himself shivering on the street outside of where Number Twelve, Grimauld Place was supposed to stand. When he concentrated on the address, the house seemed to blow up like a balloon from the ground. Hermione, Mr. Weasley, and Bill were already inside. With a pop, Mrs. Weasley and Ron appeared on either side of him.

They opened the door and slid inside. Making their way to the meeting room, they met several grave-looking witches and wizards.

They entered the room where the meeting was to be held. About thirty-five wizards and witches were already seated in the chairs there. In front, facing the audience, sat a podium with five chairs lined up behind it. Professor McGonagall was seated in one, Kingsley Shacklebolt next to her, and Remus Lupin beside them. The other two were empty.

Harry spent the next five minutes gazing around the rather subdued room. Most of the people around him were middle-aged, but some were the extremes either way. Elphias Dodge was without doubt the oldest; he looked to be eighty. Harry was pretty sure that he was the youngest, as both Ron and Hermione were older than him, but still people looked at him with a sort of reverence that unsettled him. Only about five more wizards entered after they did, and then the meeting began.

Professor McGonagall stood up. "I have to thank you all for dragging yourselves out of bed at this outrageous hour for a meeting that you know nothing about. You know that we wouldn't summon you here if it weren't urgent.

There was a general mummer of agreement. She continued. "I'll get straight to the point. As many of you attended voted for the new Minister of Magic yesterday-"

(A/N- Harry, Ron, and Hermione did, too, because they're of age, but I didn't even think about that until now, and I really don't want to go back and write about it. So just pretend they went to the Ministry and voted for… I dunno, Kingsley Shacklebolt, who was one of the candidates. Use your imagination.)

"-You know that one of the candidates was Domohov Bokonovsky. Last night I received information that he won. But that's not why I dragged you out of bed. One of our spies has also just revealed to us that Bokonovsky is a Death Eater. So that's our dilemma. We have a Death Eater as a Minister of Magic."

And outraged, fearful muttering swept the room. Harry looked at the Weasleys on either side of him. Ron's mouth was contorted in an angry grimace. Mrs. Weasley had her hands over her mouth and Hermione looked stricken. Mr. Weasley had an expression of mingled fear and surprise on his face, and Bill- Bill was taking five Galleons from a young wizard in the next row. At Harry's strange look, he shrugged. "I bet him that he was a Death Eater last week."

Harry shook his head. Only Bill….

Professor McGonagall cleared her throat, and silence swept the room like a plague. "We had suspicions that Bokonovsky was a Death Eater, but only recently have we proved it. The reason we had to meet here tonight was to decide what to do. We can't have a Death Eater rampaging about as Minister of Magic."

"Put him out of commission, I say," growled a voice that Harry recognized as Moody.

"Alastor, murder is the way of the Dark Lord, not the way Dumbledore has chosen for us," Professor McGonagall said sternly. "I was thinking more along the lines of exposing his allegiance to the Dark Lord."

Moody muttered something to the effect of, "I wasn't talking murder, only severe injury."

"If we can tell enough people without going public with it," Lupin said, rubbing his chin, "we could wait a month or so, then come out and say it, and we'd have support to make enough people believe it to get him thrown out of office."

"The only evidence we have is our spy's word. While we may trust it, no one else will."

"Then we have to get more evidence, or find another way to get him out of office," Bill piped up. "If we don't have enough incriminating evidence, exposing him won't work."

They debated back and forth for nearly an hour. Harry, not hearing anything new after the first fifteen minutes, had to force his mind back to what was happening more than once. He couldn't think of any way to incriminate the new Minister, but he knew it had to be done. The Order- and the wizarding world as they knew it, for that matter- was on its way out if they allowed a Death Eater to have the post.

In the end, it was decided that they would convince as many people as possible as fast as they could that Bokonovsky was a Death Eater, and in the meantime, try to counter anything he did that could lead to disaster.

Mr. and Mrs. Weasley excused themselves, saying that they needed to take care of some business with someone. Harry's mind was in turmoil; he needed somewhere to think. He slipped out of his chair, unnoticed by Bill, Ron, and Hermione, and tiptoed through the hall and up to the drawing room.

He lighted a candle with his wand, relishing the fact that he could now do magic outside of school, and sank onto the dusty couch, his head in his hands. The room was eerie in the flickering candlelight, and the window was open, allowing a small, chilly breeze into the room. It stirred the huge tapestry that covered the entire wall above the fireplace.

Harry kept trying not to look at the tapestry; it only brought back painful memories of Sirius. But his eyes, independent of his will, kept traveling back to it. He couldn't get it out of his mind, as though it wanted him to come and look at it again.

Well, he thought, why not?

So he stood up and walked to it.

His eyes fell first on the name Narcissa Black. A thin, black line tied her to Lucius Malfoy, and a line from the middle of that one showed their only son, Draco.

Harry gazed at the tapestry for several minutes before he allowed his eyes to wander to the small hole in the fabric that had once been Sirius' name. His brother, Regulus Black-

Regulus Black.

Harry didn't finish his thought. His mind was whirling as the night of Dumbledore's death came swimming back to him. The note in the locket…. He had read it over and over again, frustrated that he couldn't know who it was. Hermione had searched the library for hours, but found no one who matched it. It made perfect sense! Regulus had been a Death Eater- or, at least, pretended to be one, and discovered Voldemort's secret. How could it be anyone else?

Harry's breathing increased as he thought about the note he had seen barely a month before, the note that had been found in the fake locket…

_To the Dark Lord-_

_I know I will be dead long before you read this, but I want you to know that it was I who discovered your secret. I have stolen the real Horcrux and hope to destroy it as soon as I can. I face death in the hope that when you meet your match, you will be mortal once more. _

_R.A.B._

R.A.B.

Regulus Black.


	7. The Riddle House

"Ron," Harry said as soon as they were in his room back at the Burrow, "I've figured it out! I know who R.A.B. is!"

Ron gazed at him blankly. He was still kind of tired.

"Ron, I know who R.A.B. is."

That's when it hit him. His mouth dropped open and his eyes popped. "R.A.B.? Who?"

"Regulus Black! I should've known, it should have been obvious-"

"Regulus Black?"

"Yes, Sirius' brother! I can't believe I didn't think of it before!"

"Harry, are you sure?" he asked, gazing at him with an odd expression. "It really doesn't make sense. He was a Death Eater, remember?"

"Yeah, but maybe he was only faking it so that he could get closer to Voldemort… that makes sense, doesn't it?" Harry began pacing. "I've got to go tell Hermione."

Ron groaned. "Harry, it's three o'clock in the morning! Can it wait until at least six-thirty?"

"No," Harry said determinedly. "I'm going to go down there…."

"Mum won't like you out of bed at this hour. And she's right; you should be getting some sleep! You're planning on going to track down a Horcrux tomorrow!"

"I'll Apparate," Harry said determinedly. And indeed, he disappeared moments later, leaving Ron utterly disgruntled.

Harry reappeared with a loud crack in the room Hermione shared with Ginny. They had been in the middle of a conversation, and both of them screamed when Harry appeared.

"It's okay!" he hissed, waving a hand to quiet them.

"Harry, what do you think you're doing?" Hermione demanded. "It's three o' clock in the morning, for heaven's sake!"

"Yeah, Ron already told me. Look, Hermione, I need to tell you something."

Hermione glanced at Ginny, who was glaring at Harry, as though daring him to tell Hermione and not her. He sighed. "I've figured out who R.A.B. is," he told her.

"You've _what_?" she practically shrieked.

"Hermione, shhh!" Ginny hissed. "You're going to wake Mum and Dad. Who's R.A.B., Harry?"

"Someone who was killed a while ago, fighting Voldemort."

"How do you know what he did if you didn't even know his name?"

"It was in a note."

"Where'd you get the note?"

"It was… inside of something that belonged to Voldemort. Look, Ginny, the more I tell you, the more at danger you'll be. I'm not telling you anything else."

"Well, I'm not leaving," she said hotly, folding her arms crossly. "I'll hear anything you tell Hermione."

Harry exhaled exasperatedly. "Fine. Let it be on your own head. Hermione, R.A.B. is Sirius' brother, Regulus!"

"Regulus," she breathed. "Of course, it all makes sense… how could I not have…? Oh, Harry, how did you figure it out?"

"I was looking at that old tapestry in the drawing room, that one with the Black family tree on it. I didn't think of it either, don't worry."

"I didn't know Sirius had a brother," Ginny quipped. Harry nodded.

Hermione's brow had furrowed and her eyes were unfocused, as though she was thinking about something. "What?" Harry asked.

Hermione shook her head. "Never mind. Do you plan on going to the library any time soon?"

"Sometime, maybe. I'd like to read up on possessions of Gryffindor and Ravenclaw."

"I'm coming with you when you go. There's something I want to look up…."

"What?"

"Oh, nothing big. If it turns out to be something big, I'll tell you what it is. Goodnight, Harry!"

That was a dismissal, and Harry wasn't about to argue with a teenage girl in the middle of the night. He sighed, then Disapparated.

The next morn dawned warm and bright, quite a contrast to what Harry was feeling inside. His nerves were mounting, and he hardly ate any breakfast; it felt as though his insides were made of living, leaden worms. Mrs. Weasley said more than once that he must have not been getting enough to eat, for he looked rather pale.

"Mrs. Weasley," he said abruptly, "Ron, Hermione, and I have to go somewhere today. We might be gone a while."

She paled. "Where are you going?" she asked, trying to keep her voice level. Harry knew she was afraid for all of them.

"I can't tell you. I wouldn't let Ron and Hermione go, but this is something I have to do, and I have no control over them. They refuse to stay here."

Mrs. Weasley looked as though she were about to cry, and indeed, when they said goodbye to her, she sounded as though she had a bad cold. She hugged them all tightly, as though she would never see them again. _As_, said an unbidden voice in the back of Harry's head, _she might not._

_Shuddup,_ Harry snapped at the voice. _We'll be fine. _

Harry concentrated hard on the image of the Riddle House he had seen only twice; once in a dream, and once in a memory. After the squeezing black bands had ceased trying to suffocate him, he found himself in the middle of the village of Little Hangleton.

The street was deserted (which was a good thing; appearing out of thin air would be hard to explain to a Mugge), and Harry gazed around. He stood across the street from a pub called The Hanged Man. Ron and Hermione Apparated next to him only seconds later.

"We should try to find out something about the house," Harry muttered, nodding at the huge mansion that towered on the hill a couple blocks away, looming like an unwanted omen. "If anyone's tried to go in there, we want to know what happened, so we have some idea of what we're facing."

Hermione nodded, and Ron said, "Good idea."

"The pub's always a good place for gossip. Come on."

Even though it was only just after breakfast, there were six people in the pub besides the bartender. They all glared at the newcomers rather menacingly.

Ron was eyeing the whiskey, but when Hermione paid him sharp glance, he ordered a cup of coffee. Harry and Hermione split the payment; Ron had no Muggle money. The bartender gazed at them suspiciously. "You kids don't live here," he said.

Harry demonstrated his adroit lying skills. "We're thinking about moving here. We're nearly of age, and we're sick of our parents."

He nodded wisely. "Where're you looking?"

Harry shrugged. "Heard that old mansion's been abandoned for years. Something about a ghost. Or murders. I can never keep the haunted stories straight."

The barman had gone slightly pale. He leaned forward. "Look, you kids, don't you never go near that mansion, you hear? There've been all sorts of strange happnin's there."

"Like what?" asked Harry, pulling up a stool. Ron and Hermione followed suit.

"Well," said the barman, tilting his head back, "It started 'bout sixty-five years ago. I was just a kid back then. Rich, snobby family lived up there, named the Riddles. They had a grown-up son, who one day ran off with the lowest filth in the city, a girl called Gaunt. Merope Gaunt. Came back a couple o' years later, sayin' she'd bewitched him, or sommat like that. Then, eighteen years later, they was found dead, lyin'on the floor of their drawin' room. The doctors couldn't find nothin' wrong with 'em- they all looked to be in perfect health, 'cept for the fact that they're dead. It was almost as though they'd been scared to death."

"Really?" said Harry, pretending to be interested even though he'd heard it all before. And unlike the Muggles, he knew exactly how the Riddles had been killed and who the murderer was.

"Yeah. Then, 'bout three years ago, the gardner, Frank, who they suspected for murderin' the Riddles, was foun' dead, also in the drawin' room. Same thing as the Riddles. They couldn't figure out nothin' about how he'd died. They said it mighta been a heart attack, but they couldn't find nothin' wrong with his heart. But there was a look of intense terror on 'is face, just like with the Riddles. As though he'd been scared to death."

"An' then," he continued, his face clouding, "jus' last year a couple o' boys broke in the house for a dare. Only one of 'em came back alive, and he's been clammed up, like a mute, ever since. Doesn't say a word. Freaks out at anything' that moves. The other boy was never found."

Harry felt an involuntary shiver run up his spine, and his cup shook slightly in its saucer. "Did the boy give any hint as to what he encountered in the house?" he asked, trying to keep the fear out of his voice.

The old bartender shook his head. "Didn't say nothin', poor kid. They tried to get 'im to talk for months, but 'e won't, or 'e can't."

Harry drained his coffee. "Well, we won't even be looking into that house, then," he said decisively. "C'mon, Ron, Hermione. We can go to Great Hangleton. I saw a pretty nice house there.

They walked out of the shop, Ron and Hermione not having said a word.

In fearful silence, they started the trek to the foreboding mansion ahead. The sunny, cheerful day didn't warm the empty pit that seemed to be growing in Harry's stomach. He was afraid, and he couldn't figure out why. He had plunged into danger heedlessly before, completely unafraid.

_It's because Dumbledore's dead,_ said that voice again. _Every time you've been in danger, Dumbledore has been close enough to step in and help. And now he's gone, and you're on your own. Really, truly on your own. _

_Except for Ron and Hermione,_ he told the voice sternly. _They'll help me. _

He spent the next fifteen minutes arguing with his own head. Ron and Hermione were both rather pale, and Harry expected that he looked the same.

They arrived at the foot of the winding street that led up the hill. It was shut off by a rusted iron gate, which was locked with a padlock. Checking quickly to make sure no Muggles were watching, Harry pulled out his wand and muttered, "Alohamora."

The lock clicked open, and they managed to slide the gate open enough to slip through. They locked it behind them.

"Draw your wands," Harry whispered, as though the fear that lurked on this property demanded silence. "You never know when his tricks will start."

They made their way up the winding road, and soon the village below was completely obscured by the trees that surrounded them. After several minutes of trekking, they came to an archway formed entirely by a thicket of brambles.

Harry slowed apprehensively as he reached it. It seemed to be a tunnel leading though several hundred feet of thorny bushes. They were all brown and dead, though he suspected that they had been alive at one point. He didn't want to be enclosed by anything that could possibly pose a threat, but he couldn't see any way around them.

"We can't go over it," Ron said softly.

"We can't go under it," Hermione muttered.

"We'll have to go through it," Harry said determinedly, subconsciously completing the nursery rhyme, and plunged, without allowing himself another thought, into the bushes.

Nothing happened. Ron and Hermione followed, emboldened by his success.

And _then_ something happened.

The brambles around them began closing in. They came alive, writhing like snakes. The entrance was obscured within seconds. Harry, without thinking, scrambled toward where the exit should be, but found his way blocked. Hermione screamed, Ron bellowed, and Harry twisted with all his might as the feelers twisted their way around his body, ready to suffocate him.

_Harry, think!_ his brain screamed at him. This wasn't a Devil's Snare; he didn't know what it was. "_Diffindo!_" he shouted, but the curse snapped only one feeler, and it was hopeless against the hundreds that were still converging on him. His legs were paralyzed in the tangles of weeds, and soon his torso and arms would be immovable. And then he would be engulfed, defeated by the first challenge he was faced with.

He tried to Apparate out, but to his dismay found that he couldn't.

"Harry!" said Hermione's muffled voice from somewhere on his right, "If you have your wand, try transfiguring them!"

Harry tried… and failed. About three of them turned into useless rags, but three wasn't enough. But then an idea sprang to mind.

"_Gelidusto!" _ he screamed, and blue sparks flew out the end of his wand.

The freezing spell worked; the branches ceased moving. Harry struggled for a moment, tearing several of them, then worked with his wand, severing them with Diffindo, one at a time.

Hermione was free; Ron was free. Ron's wand hand had been held immobile, disabling his spell-casting ability. Hermione had dropped hers a while back. She ducked down to get it, and, pointing it at Ron, yelled, _"Wingardium Leviosa!" _

Ron began drifting into the air. Taking the hint, he swished and flicked his wand at Harry, who began flying as well. Harry did the same to Hermione.

Through several complicated maneuvers, which the author doesn't feel like thinking of now, they managed to land on the other side of the brambles. They fell in an undignified heap, and didn't bother to get up again for at least five minutes. They were already exhausted. Fighting plants isn't as easy as it seems.

Harry dragged himself off the ground and reached down to help Ron up. Reluctantly, they started back up the hill, wands held tightly, ready for anything.

Strangely enough, they encountered nothing menacing (save for a swing that, much like the Whomping Willow at Hogwarts, attempted to slam passerby in the head, which took only another freezing charm to stop). Finally, they emerged from the trees and found themselves at the front walkway of the huge mansion, shivering in its shadow. A vast lawn sprawled on the other side of it, and at the bottom stood a gardener's hut, which, judging by the broken windows and door hanging off its hinges, had been abandoned.

The front doors were huge, ornate, and carved from oak. Intertwining snakes were set in the door in silver and jade. Harry assumed this had been Voldemort's addition; the resemblance was too close to that of Slytherin for Muggles who knew nothing of Hogwarts or its founders to have replicated. A huge, silver knocker in the twisted form of a snake's head adorned the heavy door. Harry stepped up to seize the handle, but the door opened by itself, as though inviting him to come in and meet its doom.

Gritting his teeth, Harry stepped over the threshold.


	8. The Third Horcrux

Chapter Eight

The Third Horcrux

The interior of the house was dark and musty. Harry could almost smell death seeping out of every crack. He couldn't see anything, and he wasn't about to proceed without a light.

"Lumos," Harry muttered, and the tip of his wand flared in the darkness. Ron and Hermione did the same behind him. He looked up and gasped.

The entryway was enormous. It was cylindrical in shape, and a magnificent mahogany staircase wound it's way upward and disappeared into darkness, with doors branching off every few meters to unknown rooms. A big archway on the ground level led to what Harry expected was a sitting room or something of the sort. Ron made a move as to go up through the arch, but Harry pulled him back, shaking his head. "It's up," he said, gazing at the stairs.

"How do you know?" Ron demanded.

Harry shook his head. "I don't know. But I have… a feeling. It's upstairs. It'll be in the highest room. It would represent power to Voldemort, having it high in the air."

Ron shrugged skeptically. "Alright, Harry, whatever you say. But I still don't think you know any better than I do."

"Too bad. We're going up the stairs. C'mon."

Harry mounted the first stair, expecting something to happen, but nothing did. His footsteps were muffled by the thick layer of dust that covered everything. Tentatively, he put his foot on the next step.

They climbed higher and higher, growing tenser by the moment. After they were about thirty feet from the ground, Harry noticed that Ron and Hermione were no longer following him.

"What's wrong?" he asked, descending to where they stood and looking back and forth between their faces.

Hermione shook her head, an expression of intense fear on her face. "Something's not right, Harry. We haven't encountered anything since the vines out in the yard. Surely Vol- Voldemort would have put up more defense than this."

Harry swallowed. "I know. But what are we supposed to do? Maybe he's just trying to lull us into a false sense of security or something."

"Harry…"

"What?"

"I don't know, but I have a horrible feeling that I can't get rid of."

Harry's heart melted as he looked into her terrified eyes. "Hermione," he said softly, "you can go back. You don't have to do this. I can't ask you to risk your life to help me. But I have to go on."

"We're sticking with you, mate," Ron said, though his voice was rather higher than usual. "We can't let you face this alone."

"No, we can't," Hermione whispered, "but Harry, please, Harry, be careful. Be ready for anything."

"I am," he said determinedly, hoping he sounded braver than he felt.

He continued up the stairs, and Ron and Hermione tentatively followed.

But now he was far less sure of himself than he had been before. Hermione's words resounded in his ears; _I don't know, but I have a horrible feeling that I can't get rid of._

Harry mounted about the fifth landing when it happened. A swarm of bats hurtled down from the ceiling, shrieking and flapping. Hermione screamed and froze, petrified, and Harry gazed on with his mouth hanging open in a sort of terrified awe. The bats were huge, with four-foot wingspans and gleaming teeth. The scariest part, however, was their eyes. They were big and red, almost like the bats were insane, and they had an eerie quality to them, as though there was intelligence behind those eyes.

Only Ron had the presence of mind to do something about it. With a yell, he swung open the door, shoved Harry and Hermione through it, and collapsed on top of them, kicking it shut again with his foot. They could hear the bats on the other side, but the monsters couldn't get through.

They were all panting for breath, their hearts beating wildly. The room was pitch black, but they didn't do anything about it. They had let their wands go out and didn't have the energy to relight them.

Harry only allowed them to stay there for a few seconds, however, before he stood up. "C'mon. We've gotta keep going. Lumos."

The wand tip flared, and Harry looked around in awe. The house looked far too small from the outside to contain even one room this big. It was (obviously) magic.

Harry looked down, and a feeling of dread encompassed his body. They were standing on the edge of an abyss that never seemed to end, falling away into darkness. The room was square, and throughout it were about eighty floating chunks of rock, all about five feet in diameter and completely flat. They were arranged in rows with a white one in the very center. On the other side, which seemed a mile away, was another precipice like the one on which they stood. The object looked easy enough; they had to jump from one stone to the next across the room.

Harry had a feeling that it wouldn't be so simple.

Statues, also floating in midair, lined the walls each of them leering down at them menacingly. Harry, glancing at them and gulping, shuffled to the edge of the outcropping.

"Harry," Hermione whimpered, "you're not going to jump across that, are you?"

He set his jaw determinedly, trying to gauge the distances between where he stood and the two closest ones. He could make it. He hoped.

"Harry," she said, almost pleadingly, "we can go back out there, we can face the bats…."

Harry snorted. "Did you see those things? This'll be far easier, come on."

And without allowing himself a second thought, he leaped.

He landed firmly on his feet… or so he thought. As he quickly discovered, the platforms wobbled. He sprawled, off balance, arms whirling, fear punching into his heart as he tipped towards the abyss.

But something pushed him back onto the platform. When it was steady once more, he turned slowly around, breathing hard. Hermione had her wand pointed at him, and it was as though an invisible hand had shoved him to keep him from falling.

"Thank you," he whispered, gasping for breath and shaking all over. A whisper was all he could manage.

"We have to land in the middle of the rocks," Ron said decisively. "Go on, Hermione, Harry'll grab you."

Hermione was pale and shaking. "I can't, Ron, please, don't make me. I can't jump that far."

"It's not far, Hermione," Harry said eagerly. "It's a lot closer than it looks. Trust me."

"Alright," she whimpered, and then she jumped.

Harry gripped her tightly as soon as she was near enough, and they fell to the floor as the platform wobbled again, but they didn't fall.

Harry stood shakily. "Okay, I'm going to jump to the next one. Hermione, you do the same thing you did last time, with your wand, and then Ron can jump, and you'll catch him.

Slowly, tediously, they worked their way across the room. There were several close calls, like when Harry nearly fell, but Hermione's invisible hand held him up and dumped him safely on the platform, but they all made it though alive.

Harry sprang to the one white slab, feeling for what seemed the millionth time the gentle push that kept him on the slab of stone.

"What was that?" Ron asked, his head whipping around.

"What was what?" Harry asked, slightly distracted; Hermione was about to jump. She teetered on the edge for a moment, having lunged forward but been distracted by Ron's interruption, and it looked as though she was about to fall. At the last second, however, Ron seized the back of her robes and pulled her back, embracing her. "Don't do that," he told her, kissing the top of her head. "You scared me."

"What was what?" Harry asked a little more urgently. His nerves were more on edge than he could ever remember them being.

But then his question was answered without Ron's help. The statues around the walls were coming to life. Stone grated against stone as they moved away from the wall, bearing down on the trio like a terrifying beast. Hermione screamed, and even Ron and Harry whimpered. Harry found himself shaking uncontrollably. The last time he had encountered moving, larger-that-life statues was in an all-too-real chess game, many years ago…. Ron had nearly been killed on that occasion. Harry had a nasty feeling that this wasn't all that much different.

The statues each took up a position somewhere in the room as the three of them watched in horrified fascination. "What is it?" Ron whispered.

Hermione gulped. "Tafl," she whispered.

"Come again?" Harry asked, riveted by the moving statues. Some were like white marble, others like black ebony.

"It's tafl," she said, shaking her head. "I read about it in a book."

"Do you know how to play it?" Ron asked rather apprehensively.

"I read through the rules," she told them anxiously, "but I don't know if I can remember anything."

Harry moaned. "Who came up with this stupid game, anyway?"

"The Vikings," Hermione said absentmindedly. "It was the forerunner of chess. I think… Harry, I think I can remember the rules well enough to get not violate any, but… whether or not we'll win, I can't say."

"Well," said Harry grimly, gripping his wand, "you're the best we've got. Care to explain what you can remember?"

She nodded weakly. "The king- that's you, Harry, because you're in the middle- is the key player side. We're black," she said, gesturing to the remainder of the pieces. "Our objective is usually to get the king to one of the corners of the room, but in this case, I think it's to get the king to the door. A piece is captured if it gets trapped on two sides with the opposite player's pieces. The pieces move horizontally and diagonally, like… like the Rook in chess-"

"It's starting," Ron interrupted, his face bloodless.

Indeed, the first black floated over to a different slab.

"Ron, Hermione," Harry said urgently, "Get over here, so that we can be together."

They jumped, and Hermione turned around. "I think…" she said softly, and without completing her thought, she raised her wand and pointed it at one of the black players. Indeed, it moved one platform to its right. "Yes," she said.

Harry didn't ask. He watched as another white piece moved, and then Hermione said, "We're moving one square closer to the door, you two. Let's do it."

They did it.

Slowly, even more so than before because they had to wait for the other pieces to take their turn, they grew closer to the door. Whenever a piece was captured, the stone would wobble, tipping the unfortunate statue into the abyss. The white pieces were drawing closer to them with every turn, and soon Ron was shaking, and Harry could feel his insides twisting into knots. Only Hermione remained calm; she had the brains to get them through this.

Before long, they found a white piece blocking the path that up until then had been straight towards the door.

Hermione bit her lip. "They have to surround us with four people," she said, gazing around. "We're going to have to get around it."

And so they did. But their opponent was Lord Voldemort, and while he might not have been as clever as Hermione, he was pretty darn close. They found their way blocked by two this time.

Hermione moaned. "I'm sorry, you two, I don't know what I'm doing, I'm so sorry…"

Ron embraced her comfortingly, and she buried her face in his chest to wait for the white pieces to move.

When she looked up, she nearly broke into tears.

Harry saw why.

There was one more slab between them and the exit, but it was occupied by a white statue. Harry looked frantically to the left, to the right, but both of them were blocked, too. Fear shooting through his body, he turned slowly to look at the stone behind them.

They were locked in. They had lost.

"Come on!" he yelled as their stone began to shake threateningly. If they didn't do something, they were going to fall to their deaths. He seized Hermione's wrist with one hand and Ron's robes with the other, and jumped to the piece directly in front of them. Harry's shoulder slammed into the statue that already occupied the slab, and he cried out in pain. Ignoring it, he inched his way rather quickly around to the other side, pulling Hermione along with him and trusting her to grab Ron.

Harry felt the slab lurch downward. With all his might, he leaped, pulling Ron and Hermione along with him. The flight through the air seemed to last for hours.

And then they landed. Harry stumbled and fell, the other two coming right down on top of him. Struggling for breath, Harry pushed himself to his feet.

"Uh-oh," he whispered. "We cheated, and they're coming."

Ron stood up beside him, reaching down to help Hermione.

"Run," she murmured.

They didn't have to be told twice. Harry paused only long enough to put an Imperturbable Charm on the door, then sprinted after the other two.

But there wasn't far to go. The room they had entered was circular, with blue carpet and bronze walls. In the middle of the room stood a chest-high pedestal with a statue of a golden eagle perched on top of it.

"Ravenclaw," Harry breathed. "He found something that belonged to Ravenclaw. Ron, don't touch it!"

Ron had reached out to the eagle, but at Harry's words he snatched his hand back as though it had been burned.

"I don't think it's safe," Harry said, getting a bit closer.

The Imperturbable Charm on the door seemed to have worked; at least stone statues weren't attacking them. Hermione gazed wonderingly at the eagle.

"It's so pretty," she said, fascinated. "I always thought I should have been put in Ravenclaw, I thought that the Sorting Hat made a mistake."

"No, Gryffindor's your house," Harry said, drawing his wand. "Both of you duck. I'm going to send a spell at it, and I don't know what's going to happen."

Sending a spell at an unknown object was not the smartest thing a wizard could do, but Harry couldn't think of a better solution. Ducking himself, he aimed his wand at the statue and said, _"Expelliarmus!"_

Nothing happened.

"Maybe a stronger spell…" Hermione suggested timidly.

Of course, Harry thought, if it's going to be opened with a spell, it'll be an Unforgivable Curse. "Okay," he said through gritted teeth, "here goes nothing. _Imperio!"_

The curse rebounded off and burned a hole in the domed ceiling, but the statue remained unscathed. "Alright, hang on. _Crucio!"_

Still, nothing happened.

It's the Killing Curse, Harry thought. "Ron, Hermione, put up a shield as soon as I cast this spell. Please, I don't want it to rebound and hurt you."

He raised his wand, drew a deep breath, and shouted, _"Avada Kedavra!"_

The spell still bounced off, but it left a small scorch mark. Hermione and Ron's shields disappeared.

"You have to mean it, Harry," Hermione said weakly. You have to want to kill."

Harry's mouth dropped open. "Want to kill? I can't do that! Who do you think I am?"

"I know, Harry," she said, distressed, "but I think that's the only way."

"Okay," he said skeptically, "I'll try it."

He gripped his wand tightly, his knuckles white, and summoned up the face of the person he hated most; Severus Snape.

"Avada Kedavra!"

The eagle exploded. Hermione screamed and threw up her arms, but the pieces bounced harmlessly off the shield she had conjured only seconds before. Ron just stared at it, protected by his own shield, his mouth wide open.

Harry got the brunt of it. Having been casting the spell and therefore unable to erect a shield, a piece hit him hard on the top of the head. His mind began swimming, and then he blacked out.

He was only unconscious for a moment, however, because when his eyes fluttered open, Hermione was just standing up and the molten remains of the eagle were still smoking. Now on the pedestal sat a tiny hourglass, held on a chain.

"It's a Timeturner," Hermione said, getting a bit closer. "Ravenclaw must have had one…."

"Well," said Harry, picking it up and pocketing it, "Now we only have to get back past an army of stone soldiers, a flock of vampire bats, and murderous weeds."

"We should Apparate," Ron said.

"I tried," Harry told him. "I think it's bewitched like Hogwarts so that you can't Apparate inside of it. I don't see any other way back."

Ron looked put out, but there was a look of dawning comprehension on Hermione's face. "Harry," she breathed, "a few weeks before you went to get the locket, Dumbledore asked me to come to his office. I didn't know why, I thought I was in trouble. But all he said was this: 'If ever you find that certain magical abilities don't work, look to the phoenix. He will help you. And Miss Granger, I would appreciate it if you didn't tell your friends until the right time comes.' I couldn't make head or tails of it until now, but it all makes sense. I think he meant that if I needed to lift the no Apparition spell off of Hogwarts for a good reason, I was supposed to find a phoenix…."

"That's right," Ron said, his eyes widening. "There's a myth that wherever a phoenix is present, anything is possible."

Harry was looking from one to the other. Then his eyes narrowed. "And where do you propose we get a phoenix?"

"I know the spell that will call them," Hermione said breathlessly. "It's different, depending on what Phoenix you want to call, but… I think I can remember Fawkes' song… hang on."

She raised her wand, and with that movement, an intense sound filled Harry's head. It was the song of the phoenix, a lovely, haunting melody that is not forgotten once it is heard. The song was not on the outside, but on the inside of Harry's very being. He had been on the verge of pointing out to Hermione that Fawkes might be gone, disappeared with his master, but then the song started and he lost all desire to speak.

And five minutes later, before his very eyes, Fawkes stood, preening his glossy red plumage.

Harry felt the memories begin to build up inside of him, stronger than ever before. He remembered every single time he had encountered the phoenix, and every time, Dumbledore had still been alive. Still, it was a relief to Harry to know that this small part of his beloved Headmaster remained alive.

Harry reached down and allowed Fawkes to jump up on his arm. He stroked the bird's feathers. He was once again nearing the time where he would burst into flame and be reborn out of his ashes, so he looked utterly dismal. Harry remembered that it had been this stage the phoenix had been in when he first saw him. He smiled slightly at the memory.

"Hello, Fawkes," he said softly, gazing into the bird's fathomless eyes. "Are you ready to let us go home?"

As if in reply, Fawkes fluttered down to the ground and began crying. As the third pearly tear slid down and splashed into the velvet carpet, Harry could almost feel something lift off, and he knew he'd be able to Apparate again if he tried.

"Thank you, Fawkes," he whispered, gathering the phoenix into his arms. He turned to Ron and Hermione. "Are you ready? We'll Apparate back to number twelve, Grimauld place. On the count of three. One…"

As Harry counted, he pondered over how easy the retrieval of this Horcrux had been compared to the last one. Had Voldemort been in a hurry, been running out of materials, perhaps been preoccupied and therefore careless? Maybe it was a trick, and this wasn't the real Horcrux.

But somehow, he felt it was. He could almost feel the weight of a piece of Voldemort's soul weighing down in his pocket.

"Two." He watched Ron and Hermione scrunch up their eyes in concentration. He did the same.

"Three."

And in barely seconds, they stood on the street called Grimauld Place.

A/N: I'm sorry I reused J.K. Rowling's idea of a life-sized board game. I loved that part when I read the first book, and I wanted to save my better ones (meaning I'm stalling for time) for bigger Horcruxes. And anyway, that's what this site is all about: stealing other people's ideas and calling them your own. Right?


	9. We Did It

Right, so I'm sorry this chapter took _soooo_ long to put up. It's been... what, two months? Anyway, hopefully the next one will come up sooner. Thanks for being patient and still reading it, even though it seemed like it was abandoned... at least, I hope you're still reading it...

Disclaimer: Well, duh, you could really write this part for me... I don't own any of the Harry Potter genre (but you know that), I'm not J. K. Rowling (you know that, too), and I don't claim any part in bringing the books into publication (...why am I even telling you this?). There, now you can't sue me.

Enough blabbing. I present to you... Chapter Nine of Harry Potter and the Lord of Darkness!

Chapter Nine

Harry legs thudded into the ground, buckling beneath him. He shook his head, grumbling. He still hadn't quite managed the whole Apparition thing.

Ron and Hermione had kept their feet, and Ron reached down a hand to help him up. Harry grasped it and got to his feet, brushing off his clothes as he looked up at number twelve, Grimauld Place.

"Well," Hermione said after a moment of silence, "Shall we go inside?"

Harry nodded dazedly. He felt strangely lightheaded; the knowledge that they had defeated Voldemort once more was rather overwhelming. They had fought him, and they had won.

Hermione led the way inside, tip-toeing into the hall. They made their way to the kitchen without encountering anyone.

Harry sank into a chair at the counter and let out a long breath. "We did it."

Ron's face broke into a grin, and Hermione smiled slightly. She had an intrigued look on her face. "Can I see the Timeturner, Harry?"

He withdrew the tiny golden hourglass from his pocket, dangling from its chain. It was beautiful, but in a dangerous, foreboding way. "We have to destroy it," he said softly as Hermione took it.

She looked at it sadly. "Yes, I know. It's such a pity; nothing else of Ravenclaw's survived the Dark Ages. It's a wonderful piece of history, and we have to get rid of it."

"Speaking of which," Ron interrupted, "do either of you know how we're going to destroy it?"

Harry shook his head. He hadn't really thought about it until they had arrived at Grimauld Place; he had been too shaken over the retrieval of the Horcrux. Hermione looked thoughtful.

"I don't think that just smashing it would work. It's too simple," she said, turning the Timeturner over and over again in her hands. "No, it'll be some spell or another."

Harry nodded. "Yeah. Though what that might be, I have no idea."

"There you are!" said a voice from the doorway. All three of them jumped, whirling around. Remus Lupin was standing there, a relieved smile on his face. "Molly said you'd gone off, and she didn't know where. We were afraid…"

His voice trailed off as he looked at the Timeturner in Hermione's hand. "What's that?" he asked, nodding at it.

Hermione hastily shoved it into her pocket. "Nothing," she said quickly.

Lupin gave her a reproving look. "Give me a break, Hermione. I'm not as thick as you seem to think."

"I don't think you're thick," she said defensively. "I just… it's a secret."

He smiled slightly. "Alright, then, if you say so. You probably want to get back to the Burrow. Ron, your parents are worried sick."

"Yeah, they would be," Ron muttered darkly, running a hand through his hair. "Would you tell anyone else who happens to be worried out of their skin that we're fine? Wouldn't want them to go rampaging all over London looking for us…"

"I'll do that," Lupin said. "Trust me, you had half the wizarding world in an uproar."

Harry grinned. The euphoria of his success was starting to get to him. "We've got to go, then," he said, "Mrs. Weasely will want to know that we're okay."

"That she will," Lupin said. "Goodbye, then."

Harry looked to his friends. They nodded, screwing up their eyes in concentration once more. Harry did the same, and only seconds later, he found himself in front of the Burrow.

Ron beckoned them inside, shielding his eyes from the mid afternoon light. Harry, Ron, and Hermione stood in the hall a moment, their eyes adjusting to the darkness, when they heard a squeal from the next room. "Mum, they're back!"

Ginny hit him at a run, throwing her arms around his neck. He hugged her back awkwardly.

"You're back," she muttered. "Don't ever do that again, ever."

She broke away from him and hugged her brother. "There's a bit of dirt on your nose, by the way, Ron."

Ron scowled, pushing her away. "Ha, ha, very funny."

She hugged Hermione just as Mrs. Weasley rounded the corner. She wrapped Ron in a hug and kissed the top of his head.

"Mum," he said, trying to squirm away, "I'm fine now, but I won't be if you suffocate me."

"Oh, thank goodness, you're alright," she said, hugging Harry and Hermione in turn. You had me so worried, you were gone for hours…. Come into the kitchen, dears, and I'll make you some lunch."

Harry massaged his ribs, following Mrs. Weasley into the kitchen. Before long, she placed a plate of sandwiches and a pitcher of pumkin juice on the table, and the three of them dug in eagerly. Harry hadn't realized how famished he was.

When they were finished, they retreated to Ron's room. Harry sank onto the bed, letting out a long breath.

"I want to go to the library tomorrow," Hermione said, pacing. "There's something I want to look up."

"What library?" Ron asked.

"There's one at the Ministry. Biggest collection of wizarding books in all of Europe."

"We'll go with you," Harry said quickly. "I want to look up Horcruxes. I don't know whether there'll be anything on them, but if there is, I want to know it."

Hermione nodded. "Now we just have to figure out how to destroy this," she said, pulling the Timeturner out of her pocket.

"Yeah," said Harry, "but that can wait. I think we've done enough for one day."

"Definitely," Ron said. "I'm about ready for a nap."

Hermione smiled. "I'll leave you two to your beauty sleep, then." She left, closing the door behind her.

Suddenly his muscles seamed weak, and he couldn't keep his eyes open. The adrenaline had worn off, leaving him fatigued. It was all he could do to walk to his bed and kick of his shoes before he collapsed.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

When Harry awoke, the bright light of morning was filtering through the window. He had slept all night. He kicked off the blankets and sat up groggily, brushing off sleep. Ron was already awake, seeing as his bed was empty. Harry made his way downstairs.

"Morning, sunshine," Ginny said as he sat down at the table. "You missed dinner last night."

"Yeah, I know," he told her, sinking into the chair between Bill and Ron. "Pass the pancakes."

Mrs. Weasley bustled in with a stack of toast, looking oddly cheery. "Good morning, Harry dear. Toast?"

"Please," he said, taking a piece off the plate and biting into it."

"Mum," Ron said tentatively, "we're going to the Ministry today."

"The Ministry?" she asked, nearly dropping the plate of toast. "Whatever for?"

"We're going to the library. There's some stuff we want to look up."

She looked apprehensive. "The new Minister of Magic is a Death Eater, Ron. He could…"

"Mum, he wouldn't do anything in broad daylight with thousands of wizards wandering around. We'll be fine."

She sighed. "I suppose you're right. Anyway, it's not like I can do anything to stop you…." She disappeared into the kitchen.

"Glad I got that over with," Ron said, pouring syrup onto his pancakes.

"Bill," Harry said suddenly, remembering something, "when's your wedding?"

Bill turned his scarred face toward Harry. "End of August. Why?"

Harry shrugged. "Just wondering. Where're you going to have it?"

Ginny interrupted. "It's a beautiful garden in southern France, on a cliff towering over the sea. It's magical, it's got all kinds of fairies and everything. You'd love it."

"Thank you, Ginny," Bill grumbled, then to Harry, "She's obsessed with it."

"Fleur is, too," she said defensively. "And Mum. And Hermione would be, too, if she'd seen it."

Hermione smiled. "I've only seen pictures. But even those were beautiful."

"See?" Ginny demanded.

Harry ate four pancakes before deciding he was stuffed to the breaking point, then stood up and made his way upstairs to get dressed. He pulled on his robes, tucked his wand into his pocket, and opened the window so that Hedwig could come in when she returned. Five minutes later, he stood at the front door, Ron and Hermione beside him.

"Bye, Mum!" Ron called.

"Goodbye, dears!" came the muffled answer from the kitchen.

Hermione straightened her robes, pushed a hand through her hair, and looked back and forth between Harry and Ron. "Are we ready, then?"

Harry shrugged. "Ready as we'll ever be. C'mon."

Hermione Disapparated with a loud crack, followed closely by Ron. Harry screwed up his eyes in concentration, watched the hallway around him dissolve, and felt tight bands squeeze him and pull him into utter blackness. A moment later, he was stepping out of one of the Apparition booths at the Ministry of Magic.

He joined Ron and Hermione, who were waiting for him a few feet away. Ron gestured to the security desk in one corner. "C'mon."

He led the way to the desk, where all three of them placed their wands on the burnished top. The young wizard at the desk smiled at them. "Where're you off to, then?"

"The library," Hermione stated matter-of-factly.

"Names, please?"

"Hermione Granger, Harry Potter, and Ron Weasley."

At the mention of Harry's name, the wizard glanced up briefly, then quickly looked down at the papers he was filling out. Harry tried to flatten his bangs over his scar without much success.

A moment later, the wizard handed them three badges. Ron accepted them and gave Harry's and Hermione's to them.

"The library's on the third floor down," the man was saying. "Just turn to your left after you get off the lifts and go all the way to the end of the hall. There's a big set of double oak doors. You can't miss 'em."

"Thank you," Hermione said graciously. "Let's go."

They rode the lifts down to the third floor and turned left, just as the wizard had instructed them to do. Indeed, enormous doors loomed ahead of them, with a bored-looking wizard leaning against the wall beside them. He straightened up as they approached.

"Hullo," he said jovially. "Here for the library?"

"Yessir," Hermione said.

"You all have your badges, I see, well then, here we go," –he pointed his wand at the door- "Patefacio!"

The huge doors creaked open, revealing behind them a library that made even Hermione's eyes open wide. Harry had only ever been inside Hogwarts' library, and he had thought that was rather large, but this… this was a hundred times, if not more, than the size of the library at school.

Grinning broady (she had, after all, gone a whole two months without a wizarding library), Hermione led the way inside.


	10. Dumbledore's Last Mark

Disclaimer: You all know I didn't come up with this. Gosh. It's all JK Rowling's, except for a few of the Fizzywink names, which belong to myself and Cornelia Funke, author of Inkheart… a book I would recommend checking out. Oh, and the entire focus of the chapter belongs to Philip Pullman, an amazing writer who wrote some of the most in depth fiction books in the history of mankind.

By the way, the word "Fizzywink" is copyrighted by Jarlaxle Baenre and Isadora Johnson (even though she doesn't know it yet). If you use it without our permission, we'll sue you and get rich. You've been warned.

Chapter Ten

Dumbledore's Last Mark

Harry gazed around in awe. Books stacked on shelves nearly a hundred feet high towered over his head, with old-fashioned rolling ladders to access the ones above. Balconies jutted out here and there, with comfortable armchairs and tables for patrons to sit and read. Ron asked the question that was just forming on Harry's lips. "How do we get up there?"

Hermione led the way to the librarian's desk. An old, kind-looking woman with spectacles sat examining the Daily Prophet. She looked up as they approached.

"And what can I do for you, dears?" she asked kindly. "You'll be wanting Fizzywinks, I suppose?"

"What's a Fuzzlekink?" Harry asked suspiciously.

In response, the librarian reached beneath her desk and with drew three balls of fluff the size of his fist. One was purple, one glaringly red, and another pale yellow. Upon closer examination, he saw that they each had two tiny, clawed feet and a beak-like snout, upon which was perched a pair of miniature glasses. The snouts were rounded, getting narrower toward the end.

"Hello," the purple one said politely to him.

Harry started in surprise. "Huh- hi," he stuttered back. It was a _talking_ ball of fluff.

The librarian looked kindly at them. "You haven't used Fizzywinks before, have you, dears?"

The three of them shook their heads dumbly.

"Well, then. These are your guides to the library. If you request a book, they can take you to it, or bring it to you. When they sit on your shoulder, they give you the ability to fly. It's awkward at first, but you get used to it."

A moment later, a tickle-me-pink Fizzywink zoomed in and alighted on the librarian's shoulder. "Good afternoon," it said courteously. Then he turned to the woman. "Eleanor, the package you were expecting from the American Library of Magic has arrived. It's waiting for you whenever you're ready."

"Thank you very much, Rosenquartz. I'll be there in a moment." Speaking to Ron, Hermione, and Harry, she said, "Just offer them your hands."

Harry tentatively stretched out a hand to the purple one. It oblidgingly hopped aboard. "My name's Azlewick," it said with an Irish accent. "What may I call you?"

"Harry," Harry said, still slightly apprehensive. He had never seen anything like it before, including Ginny's Pigmy Puff, Arnold, though that came fairly close. "Um, pleased to meet you."

"The pleasure's all mine, good fellow. Now, what can I do for you?"

Harry wanted to get out of earshot of the other wizards using the library before he stated just what he was looking for. Ron had picked up the red Fizzywink, Hermione the yellow one, and they were making similar awkward introductions to Fenoglio (red) and, aptly named, Fluff, (yellow).

He shrugged. "Just browsing, for now," he said nonchalantly, and, with a slightly unnatural air of innocence, he stalked off among the bookshelves.

When he was sure he was quite alone, he addressed his Fizzywink, Azlewick. "I was wondering…" his voice trailed off. He wasn't sure what the Fizzywink would tell people.

"Yes?" said the purple ball of fluff, "I know where everything is, or if you just have a general subject in mind-"

"Could you find me something on Horcruxes?"

Harry didn't know whether Fizzywinks could go pale and clammy, but if they could, he would have guessed that this one would. However, the Fizzywink saluted with his tiny-clawed leg, stretched a minute pair of wings that appeared from all the fluffiness, and soared off among the bookshelves. Pleased that the creature had taken his odd- if not downright morbid- request without question, Harry settled in a ground-level chair to wait.

Five minutes later, the Fizzywink returned, three heavy, dusty, and morose volumes flying above him, unsupported. Zooming towards Harry, Azlewick muttered something. The books dropped heavily to the table in front of him, barely missing hitting the tiny librarian.

"Right-o," he said, resuming his perch on Harry's shoulder, "The top one there is a fifteenth century encyclopedia of sorts, and we don't know who wrote it. There's a whole chapter on Horcruxes. The second one is more modern, written in nineteen-twenty, by the wizard known as Albert Einstein. He had a theory on something called relativity… something to do with making or destroying Horcruxes or something like that. And the third by Bishop Aidan Myriel of the seventeenth century, called Defeating the Forces of Evil, though I think it might be in Latin, which no one bothers to learn anymore… a perfectly good language going to waste…"

He trailed off, looking disgruntled. "Anyway, proceed, my dear fellow; don't let my rambling stop you. Though why you would want information on Horcruxes, I wouldn't know. Not to make one yourself, I hope?"

"No," Harry said, hefting the first huge volume and flipping through the pages. He found Horcruxes after "Honata, Shiro," and began, rather apprehensively, to read.

_A Horcrux is a magical object created through the use of the __Dark Arts__ by evil witches or wizards who wish to avoid death. To do so, they conceal part of their __soul__ within an object—the Horcrux—that is usually hidden away in a safe location. Thus protected, they become immune to death while it exists. The exact mechanism of why this works is not fully explained._

_The destruction of the creator's body does not result in death, but leaves the creator in a state of half-life, barely more than a shadow or smoke. _

_Horcruxes are not invulnerable. Destruction of the physical Horcrux removes the protection it provides, and the Witch or Wizard again becomes vulnerable to death through physical destruction._

_Creating a Horcrux is an evil and violent act. The soul of the creator must be torn into at least two pieces to provide a portion of the soul to conceal within the object. To do this, the creator must commit __murder__, which rips the soul apart, then cast a spell to infuse one part of the soul into the intended Horcrux. This magic is the most evil and unnatural of the __Dark Arts_

_There is no apparent limitation on the nature of items that can be made into a Horcrux. Its creator would likely choose a durable object, because its destruction removes the protection from death that it provides to its creator. _

Harry scanned the rest of the chapter, but found nothing he didn't already know. It was mentioned that Horcruxes were not invulnerable, but it didn't say how to destroy them. He turned to the next book.

This one was black, with a tattered binding and small text. _This was written by Albert Einstein, _Harry thought as he lifted the cover. _I had no idea he was a wizard…_

He looked down the table of contents, turned to page six hundred and seventy-two, and began reading.

The first three paragraphs were simply introductions to Horcruxes, just like the book before. Harry skimmed over these, disappointed. However, the next section, entitled Energy Equals Mass Times the Speed of Light Squared, got Harry's attention.

_Energy as we know it is defined as the capacity for work. This means that in order to exert energy, an object must be able to do work. However, my researches have led me to the conclusion that mass is also a form of energy, and it is through this form of energy that the destruction of Horcruxes comes._

_The energy that it would take to destroy a Horcrux is equal to the object's mass times the speed of light squared-_

Here Harry had to turn the page. Placed carefully between the two sheets of parchment was a slip of paper that looked like it had been ripped off the corner of a scroll. He extracted it gingerly. Only two words were written on it.

_Propero Luminarium_

Harry's heart began to beat a tattoo inside his chest. The handwriting was loopy, with an elegance that Harry had seen many times before. Handwriting that Harry would recognize anytime, anywhere.

"Dumbledore," Harry muttered in amazement, staring at the scrap of paper. "Dumbledore."

"Would you like books on Albus Dumbledore, my good fellow?" the Fizzywink asked sleepily. "There's a whole section on him, there is…"

"No," Harry said dazedly, clutching the piece of parchment as though afraid it would disappear. "No, I just… I need a book on these words. Propero Luminarium. Or maybe an encyclopedia of spells that would have this in it."

"Right then," he said cheerily. "See you in a bit."

Harry was left to sort out his whirling thoughts. Dumbledore had written this note and put it in a book. Harry knew his late headmaster far too well to think that he might have left it there by accident, which meant that this small, seemingly insignificant piece of parchment was there for a reason. Maybe Dumbledore had foreseen the possibility of his death in his quest against Voldemort, and put this here in the hopes that someone else would uncover the Dark Lord's secret and come looking for information, and they would find this and know how to use it.

It hit him then that Dumbledore could have written the words specifically for him; the headmaster had probably known that if Harry needed more information and the he wasn't around to give it, he might come here.

Azlewick returned, interrupting his brooding, with a thick, newer-looking book: a volume in a huge encyclopedia. Harry looked up "Propero Luminarium" and turned the pages until he found it.

Propero Luminarium: Latin. Swift Light._ This incantation is one of the five Evanescent Spells _(see Amoria, Praeter Excessum, Gaudium, Admiratio)_. Known as the Spell of Euphoria, the most supported theory behind it is that it spins the caster off into a world that moves millions of times faster than the speed of light, until his or her soul disintegrates and becomes a part of the great, ever-shifting mass of Dust, as dubbed by acclaimed wizard Philip Pullman. The theory of Dust states that every living thing in the universe originated from and will eventually turn back to a stream of elementary particles, particles that, in a simple term, are consciousness (for a more detailed explanation, please read _Elementary Particles_ or the _His Dark Materials Trilogy_, both by Philip Pullman). After the spell is lifted, most of the caster's original Dust is returned to his spirit, his essence, but theories, based on people who have been changed upon their return to the world, assume that some of the Dust must have either been left behind or replaced by others, for those who venture there are never quite the same. _

Harry sank back against the wooden back of his chair, eyes closed. He had no doubt about it; this Propero Luminarium was the way to destroy the Horcruxes. Dumbledore had left the note to find.

He had made up his mind.

Someday, sooner or later, he was going to venture in to this unexplained, ethereal world from which he could return drastically changed.

The world of Dust.


	11. The New Minister

Alright, alright, I admit, I haven't updated in about a year. Okay, so it hasn't been that long, but it's been a LONG time. I'm sorry about that. I hope you don't hate me for making you wait and I hope you haven't given up on me, 'cause I'll probably write more often now that school's out. Maybe a chapter every other week. If I don't, send me annoying e-mails every day and it'll probably get done.

Chapter 11

The New Minister

"And so that's where I'm going."

"Propero Luminarium?" Hermione said in awe. "That's an Evanescent Spell, isn't it?"

"What's an Evanescent Spell?" Ron asked.

Harry was sitting at a table with Hermione and Ron, holding a whispered conversation. Their Fizzywinks looked on with passing interest, having sworn not to tell anything. Harry had lugged the books over to their table, where he had found Ron flipping through a Quidditch history book and Hermione deeply immersed in an enormous book called _Explaining the Unexplainable._ They had listened in wonderment while he told them what he had found, and what he was planning on doing.

"They're… they're five incredibly powerful spells that no one really knows the extent of. They're supposed to do really amazing things if you know how to control them, but no one really does, so they're avoided. The few scientists who experiment with them are usually considered crackpots at best. Praeter Excessum, Amoria, Gaudium, Admiratio are the other ones."

"Yeah, but what do they _do?_"

"No one's sure. Praeter Excessum means Beyond Death in Latin, Amor, the root of Amoria, means love, Gaudium is joy, and Admiratio is wonder. I don't know what their effects are, but they're incredibly powerful. Like this passage says, no one who returns from this world of Swift Light is ever quite the same."

Harry changed the subject. "Hermione, what are you looking at?"

She shook her head. "Nothing, just a bit of light reading, that's all."

"Light reading?" Ron asked in amazement. "Hermione, most of us couldn't read that book if our lives depended on it."

Hermione smiled slightly. "It's a good thing I'm your friend, then. Are you two ready to go? Because I can just check this out and send it back by owl later."

"You'll need about seven owls to carry that thing," Ron said matter-of-factly. "C'mon, let's go."

They picked up their respective Fizzywinks, who had started a conversation about preening, and carried them to the front desk. The librarian looked up kindly at them.  
"Done? Would you like to check that out, young lady?"

"Yes ma'am," Hermione said eagerly.

"Just put down your name, address, and the title of the book here, dear. It'll be due on August thirty-first, the day before you return to school. My, that's an awfully big book. Good luck reading it. And you can all just put your Fizzywinks back on the counter."

They did so. "Goodbye, sirs and miss," they said as one. Spreading their wings, they dived under the desk.

Ron led the way out of the library and into the lifts. Harry was feeling sort of dazed. "I need to talk to someone," he said softly, as soon as the lift's only other occupant left. "Someone who would know something about this."

"Flitwick might," Ron suggested. "Or McGonagall."

"But then they'll want to know why I'm curious." He sighed. "I wish I could talk to Dumbledore."

Hermione smiled, but her eyes were sad. "I'm sorry, Harry."

The lift doors opened, and they stepped out along with the soaring memos. Harry, in the lead, rounded the corner and slammed into someone.

Papers went flying and at least two people ended up on the ground, Harry included. There was a shout and Harry found himself lying dazedly at the foot of several tall wizards, one of whom he knew, though he was smart enough to show no sign of it.

The other man who had fallen picked himself up. Ron offered Harry a hand to help him up.

The man was busy straightening his robes. He had raven-black, sleek hair and cold gray eyes. His robes were black and impeccably clean. Harry, flustered, said, "I'm sorry, sir, I didn't mean to."

The man looked up, and when he did, the scar on Harry's forhead seared with pain. Their eyes met, and Harry knew who this must be. Domohov Bokonovsky, the new Minister of Magic. The Death Eater.

Harry's gaze hardened as he gazed into the man's cold eyes. His scar was burning but he ignored it. The other two men with him- one of whom was Kingsley Shacklebolt- were surveying him coolly. Kingsley winked at him, but Harry didn't see. He couldn't help but think of a cool night, more than two years ago, a night that had emblazoned itself like a living nightmare in his mind. He vividly remembered being gagged and bound to the tombstone of Lord Voldemort's father looking fearfully around at the hooded, masked figures surrounding him. He had never seen this man's face, but somehow he knew, beyond any doubt, that he had been there, watching Voldemort torture him. Harry hated this man.

"Harry Potter."

The man's voice was deep and cold, and it sent a tingle down Harry's spine. He averted his gaze. "Yes sir. I'm sorry, sir."

"Don't be. It was as much my fault as yours." His words were friendly, but his words were icy and dangerous. A quick glance told him that Kingsley was worried about what either might do. The rational part of Harry's mind had to fight hard for control; if he got angry now and attacked the Minister of Magic, it would be disastrous to both him and the Order of the Phoenix.

"Pleased to meet you, Mr. Potter," the Minister said smoothly. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have business to attend. Good day."

He swept past him briskly. Kingsley, slightly behind his companions, gave Harry a brief squeeze on the shoulder as he passed.

They stood there for several long moments, Harry quivering slightly and Ron and Hermione looking anxiously on. He drew in a few deep breaths. "Come on," he said after a while. "We should be going."

They walked swiftly to the main hall, and without further ado, Apparated to the Burrow. Mrs. Weasley smiled when they entered. "I've just finished making dinner. Ron, would you call everyone? Harry and Hermione can get up to the table."

After a hearty dinner of baked potatoes and honey-glazed ham, Harry, Ron and Hermione retreated up to Ron's room. As soon as the door was shut, Harry spoke softly. "That was the Minister of Magic, and he was definitely a Death Eater. My scar hurt when I looked at him. And he was at… he was at the graveyard."

Ron's eyes widened, but he didn't say anything. Hermione looked concerned. "Harry," she said slowly, "you must not do anything rash. I know that he saw you… saw you tortured and probably laughed about it, but anything you do could mess things up for the Order."

He lowered his gaze. "I know."

Ron opened the window and leaned against the frame, staring out at the night sky. A moment later, he stepped back hurriedly, and Hedwig soared in, followed closely by three tawny barn owls. Hedwig carried only a dead rat clasped in her beak, but the others all carried yellow envelopes stamped with the Hogwarts' crest. Hedwig flapped up to her cage, and the school owls landed on their respective recipients' shoulders.

"It's our school letters," Hermione said wonderingly. "They're early this year."

"Well, earlier than last year. McGonagall is on top of things," Ron said, ripping his open.

Harry's was thicker than the others, and he was surprised that he even got one, as he was going to be a teacher instead of a student. He opened his as well. The first parchment was a letter from McGonagall, thanking him for accepting the post. As he read it, he shook his head. "I still can't believe it," he said. "I'm going to be the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher."

Hermione smiled.

Another sheet contained his instructions. He could ride to the school on the Hogwarts' Express, even though teachers didn't usually do so, and would only be required to sit at the staff table for feasts. His office would be the one that had recently been vacated by Severus Snape (Harry wrinkled his nose), he was allowed in Gryffindor Tower, and, if he wished, could stay in his old dormitory.

Harry sighed. "Pity Malfoy isn't going to be there," he said, scanning the letter. "I'm allowed to give detentions, dock points, take away privileges, give extra homework… but there's always Crabbe and Goyle, I suppose…"

Hermione looked stern, and she opened her mouth to say something. He intervened quickly. "I'm joking, Hermione, gimme a break. Do you really think I'd abuse my power like that?"

She raised her eyebrows. "Well…"

He scowled. "That was a rhetorical question."

Hermione dug once more into her envelope, and an expression of surprise flashed across her face, quickly turning into delight.

"What?" Harry asked quickly.

She pulled out a badge, which had the Hogwarts' crest emblazoned on it. Ron and Harry gaped.

"Head Girl?" Ron stuttered.

"Are you surprised?" Harry asked, though he was completely surprised himself. He hadn't even thought about it.

Ron's face lit up when he found he didn't have one. "Finally!" he said, pummeling the air with his fist. "No more prefect duties!"

Harry grinned. He was with his two best friends, not worrying for the moment about Voldemort or the new Minister of Magic. For the first time all day, he was happy.


	12. The Wedding

Hey, quick update, no? At least, compared to the last one… The usual disclaimer applies: It's not mine. Honestly. It's JK Rowling's, except for one itsy bitsy little quote from Ernest Hemmingway. I kinda stole that.

The next two weeks passed all too quickly for Harry. It had been easy to accept a post as a teacher, but actually fulfilling his promise would be another matter entirely. He was apprehensive as to what the students would think. Some would certainly consider it a great affront to have someone their own age teaching them. Professor McGonagall contacted him once more by owl, telling him that she thought it best not to stick to the usual curriculum, but to teach all years the best defenses against what they would most likely encounter with Voldemort back in power. Hermione gave a delighted squeal when he- mostly to himself- said that he ought to draw up some kind of lesson plan, and approached him an hour later with a complete outline of what he was to teach.

"Wow, Hermione," Ron said, looking over Harry's shoulder, "maybe you should teach the class."

"Basic jinxes, shields, Unforgivable Curses, Dementors, dangerous magical creatures… Ron's right. You can take the post."

Hermione shook her head. "You're better than me at Defense Against the Dark Arts, Harry, you really are. You got an Outstanding O.W.L., and I only got Exceeds Expectations. You taught the D.A., and you've… you've defeated Voldemort so many times…" Harry flushed; he did not like this subject.

"Let's go have lunch," he said quickly. "Ron, your mum was putting together some sandwiches…"

Bill's and Fleur's wedding was planned for the twenty-third of August, a Saturday. Harry was rather excited; he had never attended a wizard wedding before. Come to think of it, he'd never attended any wedding before. The Dursleys had never bothered to take him along. Mrs. Weasley, Hermione, Ginny, and Fleur went to Diagon Alley two weeks before the wedding to get Fleur a gown. Bill ordered a tuxedo, which he brought home from work one day and tried it on. Hermione and Ginny excitedly showed Harry pictures of the garden where it was to take place, and Bill started getting nervous.

An expectant, nervous excitement permeated the air the day before the wedding. Ginny and Hermione were practically giddy with delight, and Bill was walking around with a dazed expression on his face. Fleur was spending the day with her family, who had recently come from France, and Fred and George arrived from their shop in Diagon Alley, warmly wringing Harry's hand and presenting Bill with a gift that contained a silver ring, with words circling the edge of it, saying, "Kiss the Bride."

"In case you forget to kiss her when you get up there," George told him.

"Don't worry," Fred added, "if you do it all wrong, we'll cause a diversion, so that no one's attention is on you."

Bill grasped their heads and slammed them together, grinning. "I don't even want to know what kind of 'diversion' you'd come up with."

"Ow," said George.

"No call for that," Fred muttered, massaging the side of his head.

Harry awoke on the morning of the wedding with a sense of apprehension in his stomach, as if some sixth sense were trying to tell him something. He passed it off as anticipation of the upcoming event and rolled out of bed. Ron was already downstairs; his bed was empty. Harry quickly dressed and made his way out of the room.

Downstairs was a bustle of activity. Fleur was there, exuberantly talking about that afternoon while her mother, Claire Delacour, rolled curlers into her hair and Hermione arranged a vase of flowers. Ginny was grumpily sitting still for her own mother, who was doing something her wand to make Ginny's long, red hair curl into an elegant bun. Harry felt the familiar swooping sensation in his stomach when she smiled at him. Gabrielle, Fleur's little sister who was ten years old, was humming softly and stroking the silky gown that she was to wear, a pale pink one with pearl-colored embroidery. Ginny had an identical one and was very disgruntled about having to wear it, though Bill had managed to talk her into it.

"Oh, Harry dear," Mrs. Weasley called as he entered the kitchen, "come here, Claire has ordered some robes for all the boys. Come try yours on."

She laid down the brush and beckoned him into the sitting room, where five sets of identical dress robes hung over the arms and backs of various chairs. Ron was in there, trying his own on.

"I still think they look like dresses," Ron muttered while his mother's back was turned.

The dress robes were dark green embroidered with cream and with Ron's worst nightmare sewn around the hems: lace. He looked at his wrists in disgust. "Did they have to have lace on them, Mum?"

Mrs. Weasley shot her son a reproving glance. "Of course. Special occasions call for lace and embroidery."

"Yes, but for _girls_," he protested.

Mrs. Weasley ignored him and picked up a set of dress robes. "Here you are, Harry. Try them on and tell me how they fit."

Harry pulled the robes over jeans and t-shirts. They felt as though they had been made for him. "They fit," he told her.

"Good," she said in satisfaction. "Claire was so kind to get all of this, she and Aleron are paying for so much…"

Aleron, Fleur's father who only spoke French, had entered just at that moment, and looked quizzically at Mrs. Weasley, having heard his name mentioned. She just smiled winningly at him and kissed his cheek. He smiled back and said something in French.

"Oh, yes, quite," Mrs. Weasley agreed, even though she didn't speak French, and bustled out of the room.

Harry pulled the dress robes off and looked at Ron, who was staring at his own in utter hatred. "It's okay, mate, it's only for one afternoon."

"Yes," Ron muttered, "but it's going to be the longest afternoon of my life."

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

Bill looked dashing in his crisp, white suit (he'd taken out his fang earring), Fleur looked more beautiful than Harry had ever seen her (indeed, Ron couldn't stop ogling), and everyone else present seemed to have forgotten everything depressing for the afternoon. Ron and Hermione were on either side of him, he looking rather depressed in his lacy dress robes and she beaming excitedly. Fred and George sat next to Hermione, and Mr. and Mrs. Weasley (who was crying happily) on Ron's other side. Aside from about sixty of Fleur's friends and their families, many people from the Order of the Phoenix had shown up to witness the wedding. Tonks and Lupin were there, as were Mad-eye Moody, Professor McGonagall, Kingsley Shacklebolt, Sturgis Podmore, Elphias Doge, and Mundungus Fletcher. Mrs. Weasley's face had fallen slightly when she'd seen the last addition tagging along, but ushered him into the garden anyway.

The garden itself was beautiful. It was a huge semicircle, with its open face towards the soaring cliffs that plunged down to greet the seas. Directly from the gate through the huge black fence ran a small stream, which passed directly through the semicircle and dropped off into the ocean. Around the edge was a ring of evergreens, through which paved paths twisted, wound, crisscrossed, and intersected, all emerging on the other side of the trees to find another ring of rosebushes. These were occupied by tiny, glowing fairies of all different colors, which flitted around their heads as they passed, leaving behind them a wake of shining dust, which, when walked through, left one with a feeling of euphoria. Past the rosebushes was a huge grassy area, at the center of which was a small waterfall, formed by the brook that rushed past, and in front of the waterfall, a bridge spanned the water. Behind the bride, with their backs to the cliffs, were lined about a hundred chairs.

Harry watched as Fleur and Bill, from opposite sides of the stream, walked towards each other across the bridge after the final words were uttered. Bill, as if in a daze, slowly lifted the veil and kissed her passionately.

There was tremendous applause as they stood there, wrapped in each other's embrace. Harry looked around at all his companions, everyone who had come to watch, and something within his heart lifted. He knew, right then, that Voldemort could take away almost everything from him, from the Weasleys, from the Order of the Phoenix, from anyone he wanted, but he had no power, however much he tried, to snatch away their love. He could never smash their love. They could be beaten, shattered, destroyed, but not defeated. Never defeated.


	13. Cave of Doom

**Ummm…. Hey! I'm still here, you know! I only had one review for my last chapter, and that was from one of my best friends! What happened to all my readers? Okay, so maybe you all thought I had gone on a permanent vacation, but I didn't, I promise! Don't give up on me! I'm still going to update, though they'll get here faster if you review… but then, obviously no one _cares_ about updates anymore…. **

**Aw, c'mon, please?**

**One more thing: this may very well be the last time I update until the beginning of Septemberish. Not that I would probably update before then, but, you know, at least this time you have a warning…**

Chapter 13

Cave of Doom (…melodramatic, I know.)

Hermione pulled them all over to shake Bill's hand. Her face was flushed with excitement. "Congratulations," she said happily, beaming.

Ron and Harry hung back a bit, nonplussed. "Do girls always get this worked up about stuff like this?" Ron muttered, so that only Harry could hear.

As Hermione embraced Fleur- Ron watching in astonishment ("When did that happen?" he asked, looking disgruntled)- Harry wrung Bill's hand. The scarred face grinned down at him. "Hey, thanks, Harry," he said quietly. "If it weren't for you, I'd never have met her."

"What?" Harry asked, startled.

"If you hadn't been on good terms with her, she would have hated me, I'm sure…"

Failing to see the connection, Harry shrugged and moved to congratulate Fleur. When she saw him, her face lit up even more (if that were possible). "Oh, 'Arry," she beamed, "eet ees so wonderful zat you could come!"

"Er… congratulations," Harry said, muffled through Fleur's wedding gown. She kissed him on both cheeks, and then waved him on. She hardly seemed to notice Ron.

Harry noticed his friend's glum face and said, "C'mon, let's go down by the beach. We can be alone there."

He shrugged half-heartedly, and, skirting through various well-wishers, they came to the edge of the cliff.

It was blocked off by a fence, in which there was a gate that led out to a steep flight of rocky stairs, which climbed right up the cliff face. This too had a handrail for safety.

Descending quickly, they made it to the bottom, kicking off their shoes and exposing their feet to the soft, white sand. Harry sat down contentedly at the edge of the water, letting it lick his bare toes.

It was good, for a day, to forget the worries and troubles of the ever-darkening world. Here he could sit back and not have to bother himself about them, and he refused to be reminded that the end of this day would come, and it would be back to life as usual tomorrow.

Ron laid down leisurely on the beach, and was soon snoring loudly in the hot afternoon sun. Harry felt his mind drift off, and a pleasant buzzing filled his ears. His eyes began to droop…

He was awakened by an earth-shattering scream.

He sat up blearily, blinking. "Ginny?" he muttered, still halfway in his dreams, which had been very pleasant.

"That wasn't Ginny, mate," Ron said from beside him. His hand was fumbling in his dress robes for his wand.

Harry withdrew his own. "Where'd it come from?" he asked, peering around urgently. "It sounded like Fleur, I've heard her scream before…"

"Over there, I think," Ron said fearfully, pointing to where the cliff jutted out and nearly met the water.

"C'mon," Harry said determinedly, hoping, praying that nothing bad was happening.

They crept around the sheer wall. Here, the part of the cliff that had been out of view before, was dotted with caves, big and small, shallow and deep. There was a light shining dimly out of the third one down.

Harry broke into a run, Ron right behind him. He skidded around the corner, and the scene that met his eyes made him gasp.

Bill was there, his face ravaged with grief, kneeling on the sandy floor. Fleur's head was in his lap, and she wasn't moving. On the other side of the wide cavern stood three men, dressed in hooded, black robes and wearing masks.

Death Eaters.

The Death Eaters' masks were turned towards them, but Bill continued to gaze at the hooded figures with unrelenting rage. He didn't seem to notice that his younger brother and his best friend had just arrived.

"Harry Potter," said a sneering voice that made Harry's blood go cold. He knew that voice. Shakily, he raised his wand.

"Harry…" Ron said warningly.

Harry ignored him. He had last heard that voice on the night of Sirius' murder, a night that never would erase itself from his memory. It was Lucius Malfoy.

He felt something welling up inside him, an overwhelming desire to strike, but he did not. This was due mostly to Ron's grip on the back of his robes, though he did exercise enough self control not to hex Ron and then charge at Malfoy. Trying to regain his composure, he glanced momentarily at Bill and Fleur.

Bill was gently, tenderly, lowering his bride to the ground. She still showed no signs of life. He stood up, and his head came up slowly.

"Ron," he said hoarsely, wand in his hand, "get out of here."

"I-"

"Go!" Bill's voice was agonized, harsh, full of hatred. Harry did not know whether Fleur was alive or dead, but… he left his thought unfinished. He didn't want to follow it through to conclusion.

Ron shook his head dumbly, tugged on Harry's robes, and whispered. "Let's get help, Harry, c'mon." And with that, he Disapparated.

But Harry wasn't going anywhere. The Death Eaters were standing there calmly, wands held casually.

"Are you going to stay and fight, Potter?" Malfoy drawled, beginning to stroll to the left of his mates.

"Harry, you too, go," Bill said, not looking at him.

"No," Harry said resolutely.

"Harry!" His voice was almost pleading, anguished, but still with that heavy, biting hatred. "Go!"

"I'm not going anywhere," he said softly, planting his feet and gripping his wand tightly. "Ron's gone to get help, they'll be back any moment…"

Bill shrugged, as if he no longer cared, and raised his wand.

"I seem to remember last time, Potter," Malfoy sneered, starting to stroll leisurely to the left, "that you needed the entire Order of the Phoenix to come and save you."

"Harry," Bill said warningly, "he's baiting you. Don't make the first move."

Harry quelled his rising temper with difficulty and remained calm.

Malfoy took a few more steps. "Foolish Potter, to take a nightmare to be real…"

Bill stepped smartly over to him and seized the back of his robes. "Don't," he said in a no-room-for-arguing sort of tone. "Harry, go back, you're just going to get yourself hurt."

"And you think you're going to beat them alone?" he demanded softly, so that only Bill could hear. "I'm staying."

Bill looked like he was about to object, but gave in. "Very well. On your own head be it. Don't let them surround you and keep your back to the cave opening."

Harry nodded curtly, moving away slowly.

"Perhaps," Malfoy said softly, beginning to move languidly towards him, "if foolish Potter hadn't believed in foolish nightmares, his godfather wouldn't have died."

Something in Harry snapped. That was the very thing he hated himself for, an event that had happened more than a year ago. How was it that the Malfoy family all knew how to push his buttons?

He rushed at Malfoy. Before he had taken three steps, however, he found himself on his back, knocked over by Malfoy's spell. A second incantation pinned him to the floor, immobilizing his limbs. The Death Eaters began closing in on him.

Malfoy raised his wand. "Crucio!"

There were three seconds of wrenching, blinding pain, the worst he had ever felt, and then something very solid- not a spell- hit Malfoy and sent him flying across the room. Bill had slammed into him.

Harry, breathing laboriously, sweating, and half whimpering, half muttering death threats, rolled painfully onto his stomach and heaved himself up. The other two Death Eaters were advancing on him, wands held high.

Thick, gray ropes sprung out of the end of one wand, wrapping themselves tightly around Harry's body before he could do anything. The other one shouted, "Expelliarmus!" and Harry's wand flew out of his hand, caught neatly by the Death Eater. They turned to join the fight with Bill.

Suddenly, there were many loud _cracks_, and people began to appear all around the cave. Chaos reigned for a few moments before Malfoy shouted, "Abort! Get out!"

Harry distinctly heard three people Disapparating, and then there was silence.

Someone was untying him. Others moved around him; he recognized Lupin, Tonks, Kinglsey Shacklebolt, Arthur Weasley, and Sturgis Podmore. People knelt next to Fleur's body, talking anxiously in low voices.

"What the devil were you thinking, Potter?" Moody's voice growled from above him. The last of the ropes fell away and he sat up slowly. Moody appraised him angrily. "All you accomplished by staying here was to give Bill Weasley someone else to have to protect. It was foolish, boy."

Harry was outraged that he was still considered a child, someone to be watched over, but the rational part of his mind knew that the ex-auror was right. He should've gone with Ron and left Bill to his own fight.

"Harry, are you alright?" Lupin asked urgently, kneeling beside him. "You're sweating."

He shrugged, not caring right now about what had happened. "Fleur?" he inquired softly, gazing over at the ring of witches and wizards around her. Lupin didn't answer.

"Is she okay?" Harry asked, more urgently.

Slowly, tremulously, Lupin shook his head, looking older than ever. Harry swallowed the bile rising in his throat and stood up, as though in a dream. Bill pushed his way through the people around his bride, and a sob wrenched itself out of his throat as he knelt beside her.

Lupin grasped Harry's arm and steered him away. "She's…" he began, his voice breaking, "Harry, she's dead. Don't go over there."

Harry shook his head, disbelieving. "No," he said, hoarsely. "No, she… she can't… Bill… her mum…" He tried to fight his way past Lupin, but the man held him firmly.

"Harry, I want you to Apparate back up to the garden. It was foolish to stay here, but I don't think you did any harm-"

"I know," Harry said roughly, jerking away. His eyes were burning with unshed tears. "I was stupid, I was childish, I was-"

"Harry!" Lupin reprimanded him sharply. "Don't blame yourself for this."

"I'm not," he said angrily, turning away to hide his tears. "I'm going."

He Apparated. The spell squeezed him, robbed him of air, and then…

Anxious faces peered at him, all the women holding on to something else, men looking restless and nervous. Harry shook his head, unable to speak.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

They were back at Grimauld Place, seated glumly around the kitchen table. Lupin paced restlessly up and down, alternating between running a hand through his hair and scratching the stubble that was sprouting on his chin. Harry sat beside Tonks, who was next to Mr. Weasley. Opposite Harry sat Hermione, an anxious expression on her face. Ron was beside her, and Harry would have grinned mockingly at them had he not been in such a terrible mood. Beside Ron sat Fred and George, much more sober than usual. Neither of them had particularly approved of Fleur, but the effect her death was having on their brother seemed to subdue them.

Fleur Delacour- Fleur Weasley- was indeed dead. Bill hadn't said what had happened. Bill hadn't said a word to anyone after his ordeal. He had shut himself up in the study and refused to come out, eating nothing, seeing no one. Mrs. Weasley tearfully brought up food for him after every meal, begging him to emerge, but she got no answer. Mr. Weasley had stood at the door for hours at a time, trying to reason with his son, but nothing emerged from the room.

They had questioned Harry over and over again, trying to get the exact details. He had told them the best he could remember. Lupin had been wracking his brains for two days for an a reason that would explain the Death Eaters' presence in the cave, but could think of nothing other than they were there to sabotage the wedding. He felt there was something more to it.

Harry had expected Hermione, Ginny, and Mrs. Weasley to shed a few tears and then be indifferent- they had all thoroughly disliked her, for the most part- but they all went around sounding as though they had bad head colds and allergies. Fleur's mother, father, and sister, had taken her body back to France, and Harry could tell there was a certain amount of enmity towards the Weasleys, as though Fleur's death had been their fault.

He was, again, having trouble not blaming himself. _What _is_ it with you?_ he would ask himself angrily. _She was dead before you even got there! You blame everything on yourself!_ But for some reason, he couldn't shake the feeling that the Death Eaters had been there because of him, for him, and if it hadn't been for his presence, Fleur would still be alive.

Malfoy's jibe about Sirius had cut him deeply. He had tried to force it out of his mind, but since the wedding he had been repeatedly reliving the moment that Sirius had come to rescue him. And all because he had believed a stupid nightmare was real… _Sirius is dead, Harry, get over it. No amount of guilt is going to bring him back. He died a year ago. It's been a year, and still you can't get it out of your head. Get a grip!_

Bill came down that evening. His eyes were red, his face gaunt, eyes sunken, and long, red hair unkempt. He didn't look anyone in the eye. Harry was reminded painfully of the first time he had seen Sirius, barely out of Azkaban… the same haunted eyes, the same ravaged anguish on his face…

He forced his thoughts away from Sirius. If there was one person he wanted talk to right now, it would be Sirius. Then Dumbledore, then his parents. And they were all dead.

Dead.

Gone.

And he felt more alone at that moment than he ever had in his life.

**A/N: I said that the last time Harry had heard Lucius Malfoy's voice was the night Sirius died, but I think he might have shown up sometime during HBP and I can't remember it or something…. So if I'm wrong, please let me know: better to be corrected than look like a fool, I guess…**


	14. Dumbledore's Portrait

**Here it is, just like I promised, beginning of September. And it's a really long one this time: I'm not kidding. It's sixteen pages on Microsoft Word. I will update Underwater Adventure soon enough, for those of you who're following both, but I can't set a date because I don't want to set one and find that I can't meet it for some reason or another. So just keep holding your breath and waiting, and I'm sorry that I can't just write each book in one night, otherwise I would. Disclaimer applies: it's JK Rowling's. And I still don't understand why we have these.**

Although he was dreading it, September first could not come quickly enough for Harry. Tensions were running high at the Weasley house. They had received- secondhand- the information that Percy had retained his post as Junior Assistant to the Minister- to Domohov Bokonovsky, the Death Eater. Mrs. Weasley had receded to her room and not come out for a day, and when she emerged, she looked bedraggled and weary, and a mention of anything having to do with Percy, no matter how vague the connection, set her crying again. Mr. Weasley was furious, and usually broke things when the same topics were brought up. He developed bags under his eyes, and his hair seemed to be thinning faster that usual.

Bill was still not speaking to anyone. He had gone through each day sullen and silent, and it seemed as though a fire inside him had gone out. He grunted one-word answers whenever someone addressed him, and he stayed in his room almost all day, brooding. Ginny was the only one he allowed to follow him, and Harry had once heard her pleading with him to stop his self-exile. This had driven him over the edge; he had furiously raged that none of them had liked Fleur at all, and they were glad she was dead, and then he'd stormed into his room and slammed the door behind him. Ginny sat outside his room for hours, crying, begging him to open it, and when he didn't, she went to her own room and missed dinner.

Ron and Ginny seemed at a loss as to what to do; their family was falling apart, and there was nothing they could do to stop it. Harry often walked into a room to find Hermione and Ginny talking, and more than once, the latter's face had been streaked with tears. Ginny seemed more distant from him, as though the divisions in her family were tearing rifts between them. Harry couldn't blame her for being preoccupied, but he could not extinguish the jealous spark that crept up every time he saw her talking to someone else. Ron was the same way; he had become more sober and solemn, withdrawing moodily whenever Percy was mentioned or Bill retreated to his room or when his mother started crying. Harry saw all of this, and the worst part was that he was powerless to help.

The Burrow occasionally had visitors, but, as though they sensed the dour mood, they never stayed long. Tonks' bright countenance seemed to fade slightly whenever she crossed the threshold, and Professor McGonagall always had a sympathetic look on her face when talking to one of the Weasleys.

The first day in September dawned cold and rainy. Harry levitated his trunk down the stairs and into the trunk of one of the three Muggle taxis that had been hired to transport them and all their goods to Kings' Cross. The drivers looked skeptical as one after another, Hedwig, Pigwidgeon, Crookshanks, and Arnold the pygmy puff were loaded into the back seat of one of the vehicles. Their chests were so big that only one would fit in the trunk of each car. They squeezed in around the various animals and Ron's trunk (the one that had to be put in the back seat) made their way to Kings' Cross Station.

Harry clambered out of the car awkwardly, heaving his chest out after the driver had popped the lid of the trunk and taking Hedwig out of the next car in line. A gatekeeper placed them on the trolley and wheeled them towards platform ten for him. Ron and Hermione followed close behind.

"Oy, Harry!" a voice called from the crowd in front of him.

Fred and George Weasley elbowed their way through to stand before him, grinning broadly. They wrung his hand. "Good to see you, Harry," George said jovially, as Fred turned to his mother and kissed her on the cheek. Mrs. Weasley's face brightened considerably.

"We thought we'd come to see you all off," George informed them as he hugged his father.

"Yeah, wish most of you luck in your last year of school," Fred added.

"And as for the rest," George said, smirking at Ginny, "just don't hurt yourself."

Ginny punched him in the arm. "I wonder who's more likely to die this year," she said conversationally. "You or me."

"Them," Harry and Ron said in unison.

Fred, noticing that his mother was uneasy with the subject of death, changed it quickly. "So, Harry, Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher."

He shrugged, embarrassed.

"Well, just feel lucky that you don't have to deal with us," George said.

"Yeah, I suppose that's a bright side," Harry said, grimacing. "I feel sorry for all the other ones."

"Except Umbridge," Fred stated matter-of-factly.

"Well, of course…"

They ducked through the wall between platforms nine and ten and found themselves facing a scarlet steam engine and surrounded by a bustling crowd of witches and wizards.

"Hey, Ron, Hermione, Harry," said Dean, a black boy in his year as he passed.

"Hi, Dean," Harry only barely managed to stutter. Dean had grown about six inches, and he was now as tall as Ron.

The whistle blew for the first time. Mrs. Weasley embraced each of her children, Ron, and Hermione, and hugged a passing five-year-old for good measure, and they boarded the train. Harry thought Mrs. Weasley looked like she was going to cry again, and he tried to console her by saying, "We'll be careful, Mrs. Weasley."

"I know you will, Harry," she said, sounding as though she had a bad head cold.

With another loud whistle, the steam engine started slowly and gained speed as they chugged out of the station. Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny waved at the Weasleys on the platform until they were out of sight, and then settled down to find a compartment.

The first thing that struck Harry was how empty the Hogwarts' Express was this year. Most compartments had only two or three people in them, and a lot were empty. They found one near the back, put their animals in the luggage rack, and settled down comfortably.

"Why d'you reckon it's so empty?" Ron asked as soon as Hermione had slid the compartment door shut.

"A lot of kids aren't going to be coming back to school this year," she said sadly, sitting down and taking out a pair of knitting needles. "Their parent won't think it's safe."

"They're safer at Hogwarts than anywhere else," Ron said crossly.

"I know, but most parents are overly protective of their children and want them as close as possible, because they're laboring under the illusion that as parents, they can keep their kids safe."

"…What?" Ron said.

"Never mind. I don't expect you to understand, you're a boy. Just trust me, it's because parents think they're safer at home."

"Oh. Exploding Snap, Harry?"

The compartment door slid open after Harry had singed his eyebrows twice, and Neville Longbottom appeared. "Hi, guys. Has anyone seen Trevor?"

They all shook their heads. Neville came inside dejectedly. "I'll find him eventually, I suppose," he said, sitting down opposite Hermione, who was knitting another hat for the house elves. "What're you up to?"

"Exploding Snap," Ron said absently, deep in concentration as he completed his tower. "Care to play?"

"No," Neville said sadly. "I'm not very good at it."

He pulled out _One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi _and began to read.

It didn't take long before they had another visitor. Luna Lovegood poked her head into the compartment. She was wearing a necklace of pebbles and earrings shaped like mini models of the solar system. "I've been looking for you all over the place," she said to Neville. "I found something this summer you might be interested in." From a huge pocket in her over-large overalls, she produced a writhing, green blob. "It's a _frilious figelous_," she said proudly, dropping it in his hand. "We found it when we were hunting for crumple-horned snorcacks."

Neville's face lit up. "Wow," he said, prodding it, "it's amazing. This is the only plant with muscles that doesn't need roots to grow. It's almost intelligent enough to be considered an animal, except that it doesn't have a brain…"

Harry looked warily at it. His last encounter with one of Neville's plants had not come off so well.

The rain continued to pound against the windows, and it seemed to get dark a lot earlier than usual. The lanterns in the compartment flickered on just as Neville put aside his book and stretched. "Who do you think is going to be the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher this year?" he asked conversationally.

There was an awkward silence, and Harry coughed uncomfortably. He wasn't going to say anything, but Hermione's foot nudged him. So he compensated. "Er…" he said.

"I wonder if it's someone we know," Neville continued, oblivious of Harry's discomfort. "It could be anyone, really, but it has to be someone good, because defense is probably one of the most important things we're going to learn this year, what with You-Know-Who back and all…"

Harry felt himself growing hot. Hermione kicked him again. He stayed silent.

Apparently she decided to let it go, because she changed the subject. "Have you noticed that there aren't that many people here this year?"

Another hour passed, and then Hermione stood up stiffly. "We'd all better change," she said, pulling her school robes out of her trunk. "We'll be there in a few minutes."

Harry took out his own robes and pulled them over his head. Hermione handed him a comb, which he used to attack his unruly hair without effect.

The train ground slowly to a halt, letting out a hissing noise as they reached the platform. They disembarked slightly apprehensively, getting soaked through within minutes by the pouring rain.

Harry heard a familiar call through the night: "Firs' years, over here! Come with me!"

"Hagrid!" he shouted at the huge silhouette across the platform.

"Hey there, Harry!" he called back, waving a gigantic hand and almost knocking a little first year off his feet.

They clambered into the carriages, welcoming the dryness, Harry patting the thestral that drew it before getting in. They lurched forward and made their way up to the huge, looming outline in the sky: the castle that was Hogwarts.

They crammed into the entrance hall, no one willing to wait outside in the rain. Ron, Hermione, Ginny, and Harry could barely hear one another in the hubbub that reigned. Someone screamed; Peeves the poltergeist and swooped down and blown a raspberry in her ear.

Harry felt a hand grasp his shoulder, and he whirled around to find Professor McGonagall behind him. "Come with me," she said loudly, pulling him towards a side door.

Once out of the noise of the crowd, she led him through several obscure passages he had never realized existed, and they came out in the Great Hall. Most of the teachers were already seated; they looked up as they came in. Hagrid was absent; presumably, he was still coming across the lake with the first years. It looked as though McGonagall had already told them who their new colleague was to be; most of them were gazing at him with delight, though some looked as though they thought their headmistress could've done better. McGonagall motioned to a seat between a huge, empty one- Hagrid's- and that of a man that Harry had never really noticed before. Now that he thought about it, he could vaguely remember seeing him around the castle, but he didn't know who it was.

He sat down awkwardly; the last time he had seen the Great Hall from the teachers' point of view had been at the Yule ball nearly three years ago, when he had been a school champion.

The man on his right side turned to him and smiled. "I'm Jorden Andrews," he said, sticking out his hand.

Harry took it awkwardly. "Harry Potter."

"Pleased to meet you."

One thing Harry noticed that rather pleased him was that Jorden Andrews did not look at him like most others did upon first meeting him. He didn't feel as though he were being judged by something the other had read or heard about him. Andrews treated him like a person, not like a celebrity. Harry decided that he rather liked him. "What do you teach?" he asked.

"Ancient Runes," he replied. "You're Defense Against the Dark Arts, I've been told."

Harry nodded.

"You're awfully young to have this post, don't you think?"

He shrugged. "Yes. But you can't be all that much older." It was true; he didn't look more than twenty-eight.

Andrews laughed. "It doesn't take much training to teach Ancient Runes," he said. "I took the class from my third year here, and then one year out of school, and I was hired on the spot."

"Well, it can't take much training to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts, either." Harry said ruefully, beginning to realize just how out of his league he was. "I haven't even been through seven years of school."

He smiled. "Yes, but you've been through so much more than school can give you, too."

Harry shifted uncomfortably. They were on the subject of his fame again, and he didn't like it. "Yeah, well…"

Suddenly the doors to the Great Hall were opened, and students came pouring in. Harry sank down in his chair, hoping no one would notice him, even though he knew sometime- tonight, in fact, when McGonagall introduced any new teachers- they would all know.

Indeed, no sooner had people began sitting down than Harry noticed an increased intensity in the whispers, and he saw many people point his way. Ron and Hermione grinned up at him and waved, Neville looked utterly astounded, and Dean Thomas was pumping his fist in the air jovially. He could tell there was a mixed reaction to the sight of him sitting up at the staff table; none of the Slytherins looked too happy, the Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs seemed very divided on the issue, and the Gryffindors were ecstatic. Harry, looking over the Gryffindor table, realized with a jolt that he hardly knew anyone there; now that he was in his seventh year, all the older ones had moved on and he didn't know very many younger than him. Gryffindor house didn't seem the same without them. His first-year Quidditch team was no longer there, Fred and George Weasley were gone, and the Gryffindor table looked sadly empty without them. A lump formed in his throat as looked out over the four house tables; they had lost about a third of their number. Harry didn't see Seamus Finnegan, the other boy in his dormitory besides Ron, Neville, Dean, and himself.

When all the students were seated (Harry still felt many eyes and whispers upon him), Professor McGonagall stood up and clapped her hands loudly. Silence fell like a plague across the Great Hall, and she cleared her throat to speak.

"As it seems our first years are not yet here," she said, gazing around the hall, "We will begin with—oh, never mind, they've just arrived. We will begin with the Sorting, as usual."

Indeed, a rather short line of bedraggled and thoroughly wet first years had just trekked through the door, led on by a grinning Hagrid. The huge man made his way up to the staff table and sat down next to Harry, winking at him happily. Harry smiled back.

Argus Filch, the caretaker, was crossing the floor, carrying an old, patched and frayed, black wizards' hat and a three-legged stool. He set the stool down and put the hat on top of it, then walked off the stage.

The school waited in silence as the hat stirred slightly. Then it began to speak.

_Many centuries ago_

_Long before this castle rose_

_Apollo was god of the sun_

_Handsome, as so many know._

_Gaia, goddess of earth_

_In her palace high_

_And Zeus, mighty Zeus_

_God of air and sky._

_Poseidon was god of the sea;_

_Water was his lair_

_Deities of four elements:_

_Fire, Water, Earth, and Air. _

_With only three,_

_Death's bell would toll,_

_For each sustained_

_A vital role._

_Breath the air, walk the earth_

_Everyone needs to_

_Drink the water, feel the fire,_

_Not excluding you._

_Millennia after their legacies died:_

_Apollo, Zeus, Gaia, and Poseidon_

Came a man who wished to find 

_A way to train a young one._

_For a cause noble and gallant _

_A castle large was built,_

_Much like the four elements, _

_So it could not wilt._

_Upholding it were pillars strong,_

_Unwilling to let it fall,_

_Standing there for centuries,_

_Solid and sound, strong and tall._

_Without its mighty pillars four,_

_It would collapse from within,_

_Like air, earth, fire, and water,_

_Apollo, Gaia, Zeus, Poseidon._

_Gryffindor, with courage strong_

_Mirrored God Apollo,_

_While Hufflepuff, with cheery mood,_

_Represented Gaia._

_Ravenclaw, her intelligence,_

_Could be compared to Zeus_

_And Slytherin pureblooded,_

_Was Poseidon, in truth._

_All four stood together,_

_Unified and strong,_

_Supporting what they believed,_

_Giving right for wrong._

_Their legacy still stands today;_

_We must not be divided._

_We must be friends amongst ourselves,_

_Truth in each confided._

_No one can hold the school alone,_

_Or topple and crumble, it will._

_We must stand united, one and all,_

_Or face destruction still._

_Now I will look deep inside you,_

_Find where you're best suited,_

_Where you will best help support_

_This school, long since founded._

There was a rousing round of applause. Professor McGonagall stepped forward smartly and began calling out names of the first years, who came out of the line and, shivering, sat on the stool and placed the Sorting Hat on their heads. Harry watched in interest as a small boy with dark hair approached cautiously, reminding him of himself. He had only found out he was a wizard two weeks previously, and it had all seemed like a dream to him. He remembered the Sorting Hat's words…

_"Hmm," said a small voice in his ear. "Difficult. Very difficult. Plenty of courage, I see. Not a bad mind either. There's talent, oh my goodness, yes—and a nice thirst to prove yourself, now that's interesting. . . . So where shall I put you?"_

_Harry gripped the edges of the stool and thought, Not Slytherin, not Slytherin._

_"Not Slytherin, eh?" said the small voice. "Are you sure? You could be great, you know, it's all here in your head, and Slytherin will help you on the way to greatness, no doubt about that—no? Well, if you're sure—better be GRYFFINDOR!" _

Harry shook himself out of his reverie as the small boy was placed in Hufflepuff. Another one came forward, by the name of Stephen Mclean, and was sorted into Slytherin.

A variety of eleven-year-olds was sorted into different houses, and they all looked tiny, even as close as Harry sat. He could hear someone's stomach rumble and someone else engaged in a whispering conversation, and he could tell that the school was anxious for the Sorting to be over.

Professor McGonagall finally called out the last name, and the final first year stepped forward—"Zhou, Heather"—and was sorted into Gryffindor. Filch took the stool and the Sorting Hat off to the side of the hall.

McGonagall cleared her throat once more. "I ask your attention for just one more moment, please," she said loudly.

The whispers that had broken out when the Sorting had ended died away.

"As you all know," she said, peering around the room with a spark of sorrow in her eye, "Professor Albus Dumbledore was killed last year in an attack by the Death Eaters."

The whispers started once more, and several eyes flickered back up to Harry. He sank a little lower in his seat.

"Now," Professor McGonagall continued, in a slightly raised voice, and silence took precedence once more, "Being the assistant headmistress, I was asked at the end of last year by the Minister of Magic to take up Professor Dumbledore's vacated post as the new headmistress of Hogwarts.

"I ask you all to bear with me, for I know that Professor Dumbledore is a man who will never be able to be replaced entirely, no matter how hard I try. I am perfectly competent in the governing of this school, but Dumbledore went far beyond that when he was here. He was a mentor, a protector, and a friend to all who would allow him to be. I know that I cannot take his place. But I will do my best."

A memory suddenly welled up, stronger than any he had felt in a long time, and a lump rose in his throat. _He was crouching under an invisibility cloak in Hagrid's cabin, watching as Cornelius Fudge told Dumbledore that he was going to be suspended from the school until the attacks stopped._ His headmaster's words came back to him, as clearly as they night they had been said.

"_I shall never have left Hogwarts until none here are loyal to me."_

A lump rose in Harry's throat and he could feel his eyes beginning to sting. He hurriedly wiped them on his napkin and tried to focus on Professor McGonagall, but his vision was still swimming.

When he regained control of himself, McGonagall was saying, "But to a happier note. Mr. Filch has asked me to remind you that there is a blanket ban on any items bought at a store called Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, as well as a list of five hundred and twenty-three additional items that can be seen posted in each of the house dormitories this year. I would like to tell all first years—and remind those older ones who may have forgotten—that the Forbidden Forrest is strictly out of bounds. Extra safety measures have been imposed on the castle again this year, including extensive spells and a constant guard of aurors who are allowed anywhere on the grounds. I ask that you give them your full cooperation and that you adhere to the rules, for your own safety. There is a new rule that you are not allowed out of the castle after dark without a teacher present." She gazed sternly around the hall, and her eyes landed on Ron and Hermione. "Even if no one can see you."

Harry gulped sheepishly. She was staring at Hermione and Ron, but the comment was meant for him. He was going to have to use his invisibility cloak with a bit more care.

"And now, as I'm sure you have all noticed, we have added two new teachers to our staff this year. If you could please stand up, both of you…"

Harry looked around him nervously and stood up. The other new teacher was a woman on the other end of the long staff table. She was in her mid-thirties, with dirty-blonde hair and a very amiable look about her. Professor McGonagall said, gesturing to the her, "This is Professor Abigail Lasley. As I am going to have other duties this year, we needed a new Transfiguration teacher. Professor Lasley has worked in the Ministry of Magic as an auror for ten years, and she got an Outstanding N.E.W.T. in Transfiguration, and that was from me, so you can rest assured she is qualified."

There were a few chuckles scattered across the hall.

"I am quite convinced that there are very few people who can teach you more about Transfiguration that she."

The applause was enthusiastic and heartfelt; she looked like a cheerful person and a good teacher. Harry, however, was too uncomfortable to notice this; his turn was next.

"And of course," she paused, and her voice hardened, "Severus Snape is no longer teaching here. I hardly have any need to introduce our new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, but for those of you who have been living under a rock for the last seven years, this is Harry Potter…"

Her next words were drowned out by a wave of tumultuous noise. There was a chorus of boos from the Slytherin table, but these could hardly be heard over the screaming cheers from the Gryffindors and what seemed to be the majority of Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws.

Harry felt himself turning hot and couldn't help but grin sheepishly. Professor McGonagall, shaking her head in exasperation, motioned for both of them to sit down. Harry did so with no small measure of relief.

"Well," said Professor McGonagall as soon as the noise died down enough that she could get a few words in, "I wish you all a wonderful year. And now, I assume you're all quite hungry, so… let the feast begin!"

The tables magically filled up with loads of delicious foods. Harry helped himself to a serving of mashed potatoes and accepted a plate of stake from Jorden, who grinned at him. "Looks like you're pretty popular."

Harry shrugged, embarrassed, and handed him the rice.

Three helpings of butterscotch pudding later, Harry was feeling uncomfortably full. The noise in the Great Hall had settled down to a sleepy hum, and Harry only wanted to go to bed.

Indeed, the plates cleared a moment later, and Professor McGonagall stood once more. "It seems as though you're all exhausted, and of course your first priority is to get plenty of rest for the beginning of classes tomorrow. Goodnight!"

There was a loud scraping noise as all the benches were pushed out, and students began filing out of the Hall. Assuming this meant that he was excused as well, Harry gave Hagrid one more smile and slipped down to disappear among the mass of students.

Disappearing, however, was not as easy as it once was. He heard more than one shout of "Professor, can I have your autograph?" before he got to Ron and Hermione. The latter vanished into the throng, saying it was her duty to show the first years where to go, and Harry and Ron made the way up to their dormitory by means of several shortcuts.

Realizing when they got up there that they didn't know what the password was, they were obliged to wait until Hermione arrived, leading the scared-looking first years in a silent line. She shook her head. "_Draconus Dormiens_," she said, and the portrait of the Fat Lady slid open.

Harry was about to duck through the portrait hole when he heard his name.

"Potter!"

He whirled around to find Professor McGonagall standing there. "I'd like you to come to my office, if you please."

"Of course," Harry said, nonplussed. She led him through the hallway to the statue of the stone gargoyle that sat outside her office.

"Flavius Belby," she said smartly, and the gargoyle jumped aside.

Wondering what on earth a Flavius Belby was, Harry followed her up the winding staircase and into her office.

It had changed; this was the office of Minerva McGonagall, not of Albus Dumbledore. There were none of the odd instruments that had used to be there, nor was Fawkes's perch there. It looked far more organized that Dumbledore's had; though Harry could not remember it being disorganized, McGonagall had a way of making everything look perfectly orderly. She motioned at him to sit down in the chair across from her desk.

"Now," she said matter-of-factly, surveying him over her square glasses in a way that reminded him painfully of Dumbledore, "I have several matters to discuss with you. You are a new teacher, as strange as I know it seems to you, and there are some things you need to know."

Harry nodded.

She smiled slightly. "There are privileges that come with being a teacher. You are allowed to go into the staffroom, use the faculty bathrooms, et cetera. Your office is the normal Defense Against the Dark Arts office, and your bedroom adjoins that, though you do have permission to sleep in your dormitory and use Gryffindor Tower. Here is the key." She opened a drawer in her desk and sorted through a few other things before finding it. She handed it to him. "Don't lose it," she said sternly. "I only have one more. I know that most teachers have leave to go to Hogsmeade whenever they choose, but you are still only seventeen, and I don't feel it's safe for anyone, let alone you of all people. So you may not go except on student weekends."

He shrugged. It didn't matter much to him.

"I expect a full outline of what you intend to teach each of your classes this year by next Friday," she told him. "And if you can do it without Miss Granger's help, I would have more confidence in your abilities. If not, however, we can always let her teach the class." She was joking, but if Harry hadn't known her as well as he did, he would have thought her serious because her face showed nothing. "I regret to say that as a teacher, it isn't fair that you compete in the Quidditch games; not only do you need to be available for to help students whenever you can, you are a teacher and the games are for the students."

He had been expecting this. It felt odd to him, but he had no raging desire to play Quidditch.

Professor McGonagall opened her mouth to speak, but a knock echoed on the door. "Come in," she said imperiously.

The door opened and Professor Flitwick stood there. "I'm sorry to interrupt, Minerva, Mr. Potter," he squeaked, bowing, "but Peeves is tearing up the pillows in the Hufflepuff dormitory, I'm afraid, and he won't listen to me when I tell him to stop. I was wondering… if you're free…"

"For the love of Pete," she sighed. "Alright, I'm coming. Wait here a moment, Potter."

She stood up and followed Professor Flitwick out the door, and Harry was left alone.

He was a teacher. He had known before, but now it was starting to sink in. "I'm a teacher," he said aloud wonderingly.

"And you'll do a fine job at it, Harry," said a voice.

Harry nearly jumped out of his skin. He knew that voice.

"Professor Dumbledore?" he stuttered, looking around wildly.

"Hello, Harry." This time Harry pinpointed the voice. It was coming from the portrait of Dumbledore on the wall, next to a snoozing Armando Dippet.

"Professor?" he said, hardly daring to believe that he might be able to talk to Dumbledore.

"I'm glad you're looking so well."

It was dawning on Harry just what this could mean. "But you're not dead," he said, amazed. "If you can still talk to me, still know me, can still tell me stuff, then only your body's gone, and you're not really dead."

"Alas, Harry, I am but a portrait. I am Professor Dumbledore's shadow, preserved in a painting. The Professor Dumbledore that you knew has gone on."

"But you're still here. Even if you are only a shadow, you must know everything he knows, right?"

"Ah, Harry… magic works in mysterious ways. I believe I told you once that you could never bring back the dead. Well, it can't fully preserve their shadows, either. Indeed, I still have my memories, my knowledge, my wisdom, but as a portrait, I am not according to the laws of magic able to share it with you. Only the very select things that I wished to tell you before I died am I able to tell you now."

"What things?" Harry asked eagerly. He scarcely dared to hope that maybe, somehow…

"Be patient, Harry. Patience is the key to getting anything you want."

Dumbledore surveyed him over his half-moon spectacles, and Harry had the same impression he had had every time Dumbledore had done so before, that he was looking right through his skull and into his thoughts.

"But Professor," Harry objected, "you're the most powerful wizard who's ever lived. Surely you can find a way to change that magic?"

Dumbledore chucked. "Ah, to be young again… I am _not_ the most powerful wizard who ever lived, and even if I were, it doesn't change the fact that I'm dead. I can't do magic, Harry, nor anything physical. I can only talk and move between my frames, though I admit there are plenty of those to give me satisfaction…"

Harry couldn't believe it. He had spent the entire summer grieving Dumbledore's death, and here he was, talking to him once more. Or his shadow. Whatever.

"Professor," Harry began slowly, "what is it you were going to tell me before you… er, died? Will you tell me?"

Dumbledore scrutinized him for a minute, and then he nodded slowly. "Yes, Harry. I believe you are ready for at least one thing right now."

Harry could barely contain his eagerness. "What is it?"

"Patience," Dumbledore said, smiling slightly.

Harry waited several seconds, until he could contain it no longer. "Well?"

Dumbledore chuckled. "About a week before we went to retrieve the locket, I found something that might be of value to you."

Harry waited impatiently.

"I found another Horcrux."

Harry's jaw dropped. "You, er… what?"

"I found another Horcrux."

Harry was dumbfounded. When he finally found his tongue, he said hoarsely, "Which one?"

"It is a possession of Gryffindor's, and a very pretty one, at that."

"What is it? Where is it?"

Dumbledore chuckled again. "Patience, Harry, patience." He paused. "On the very top bookshelf on the far right, you will find a book called _Secrets of Magic_, by a good friend of mine. Minerva knew that these were my precious books, and as a tribute to my memory, left them there. Go pull it out."

Harry slid the ladder around to the far right bookshelf and climbed to the top. He scanned the titles and found Secrets of Magic. It was by Nicholas Flammel. He pulled the book out.

And when he did, the whole shelf slid aside to reveal a secret compartment.

"I know it's a bit melodramatic," said Dumbledore cheerily from below, "like something you might see in a Muggle movie, but a wizard would never think of it."

Inside, in a long box lined with red velvet, was an long staff made of oak, with ornate runes carved all down the sides. Harry picked it up reverently. "Gryffindor's staff," he said in awe, running his fingers along it. He could feel the magic in it, and it was like nothing he had ever felt before. He could feel Gryffindor's power surging through it, but there was a much darker, evil force inside it, and Harry was sure it was the piece of Voldemort's soul trapped inside.

"That's probably the safest place for you to leave it," Dumbledore told him. "At least until you're ready to destroy it."

Harry gently laid the staff down and slid the shelf back into place. Once back on the ground, he asked the portrait urgently, "How do you destroy them?"

Dumbledore sighed. "Alas, Harry, that was something I was never going to tell you unless I had to. Therefore I cannot do so now. I'm sorry."

Harry shrugged like it was no big deal, but it was. He had read about it in the book in the library, but he wanted to know if there was an easier way. Dumbledore had, after all, come back unscathed. Or maybe… "Propero Luminarium…" Harry said slowly. "Is that how you hurt your hand?"

Dumbledore's portrait shrugged, but his eyes twinkled, and Harry was sure that's how it had happened.

Harry sat back down, feeling the weight of all he had learned. He had another Horcrux. He could still talk to Dumbledore, or at least sort of, and he knew exactly how to destroy them.

He heard footsteps coming up the stairs. Dumbledore whispered, smiling, "We haven't talked," and he feigned sleep, like the rest of the portraits.

"Well, Potter," McGonagall said wearily as she reentered the room. "Peeves is taken care of, at least for the time being, and we can commence where we left off."

"Yes," Harry said, his mind still buzzing with all he had learned.

She handed him a sheet of paper. "This is your schedule. It tells you what classes you will be teaching and when. As you see, you have Friday afternoon off every week. I would ask you to do what you did in your fifth year, and hold an extra class for anyone who wants to come and teach them what you can. Another Dumbledore's Army, I suppose."

Harry looked up. The D.A. was what he had lived for back in their fifth year, but it would not be the same anymore, not now that he was a teacher. But he would do his best to resurrect it. "Of course."

"Any materials you need, just ask me and I will do my best to get them for you. And that's it. You're set."

Harry stood up. "Thank you, Professor." It was directed at McGonagall, but it was meant for Dumbledore. Indeed, the portrait behind her desk winked almost imperceptibly.

He was halfway out the door when McGonagall's voice stopped him. "And Harry," she said kindly, "Good luck."

"Thank you, Professor."

**Ah, I love writing Dumbledore! Why did he have to die in the sixth book?**

**This was by far the hardest chapter to write. Why? Because until I got here, I never ever ever ever ever ever ever even dreamed of writing a Sorting Hat's poem. I completely forgot about it until I remembered that the Sorting hat sings a song before he sorts. I dunno how JKR does it. Maybe that's why Harry misses it so many times; she has trouble coming up with freakin' nine-stanza poems about Hogwarts. Actually, hers was nine (In GOF), and mine was fifteen. So there. Though hers are better.**

**And something I found pretty cool: I wrote the poem, and then, curious about the meaning of Hufflepuff (I remember it striking me as the funniest name when I first encountered it), I looked up Hogwarts houses on and it said—and this is what amazes me—that JK Rowling said that Gryffindor corresponds to the element of fire, Ravenclaw to air, Hufflepuff to earth, and Slytherin to water. This was _after_ I had written the poem. I'm not kidding. **

**And one other thing; I'm not sure if Dumbledore's words (I shall never have left this school or whatever) were exactly what they said up there. I couldn't find COS. So if they're something different, please let me know, and I'll fix them.**

**And this was probably the longest author's note you've ever read.**


	15. Monday

Hello wonderful readers and fellow authors!

This one's for Kenzi because she finally wrote the chapter and I want her to know how immensely proud of her I am :-)

And the disclaimer: anything labeled "fanfiction" is not original. Therefore, this isn't mine. Bite me.

Harry awoke the next morning with a sickening feeling of apprehension eating at his stomach. At first, staring up at the canopy that covered his four-poster, he couldn't remember why. Then it hit him.

He was a teacher.

Silently, he climbed out of bed and dressed. Dean, Neville and Ron were all still asleep; they had been up late the previous night talking excitedly. Harry, despite the late hour he had finally gone to bed, did not feel tired; instead, he felt alert and nervous.

Part of their conversation the night before had revealed why there were now only four boys in their dormitory. Seamus Finnegan had not returned to Hogwarts because his parents felt it was unsafe. Harry shook his head when he heard this, but there was nothing he could do about it. If that was how the Finnegans saw things, it was up to them.

Harry descended slowly to the common room, which was empty save for one person.

"Morning, Hermione," Harry said, surprised to see her awake. "What're you doing up?"

She held up a stack of toast and a few pieces of bacon wrapped in a napkin. "I went down to the kitchen to get these for you. I thought you might want help getting ready for your classes," she said brightly.

Harry grinned gratefully and took the proffered food. "Thanks, Hermione. You're a life saver."

She smiled. "Let's go."

They traced the familiar path through the corridors to the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, meeting very few people along the way. Harry pulled the key that Professor McGonagall had given him out of his pocket and unlocked the door.

The room was undecorated, the only furniture being the teacher's desk at the head of the class and thirty or so smaller desks arranged in neat rows. Hermione brightened. "I'll go to the Room of Requirement and get some stuff to decorate," she said happily and promptly disappeared.

Left alone, Harry crossed to the storage closet in the corner and unlocked that as well. One shelf contained extra parchment, quills, and ink, and a long row of textbooks, but the rest were full empty. I'll have to find some stuff to fill those up, he thought musingly.

The other door in the room led to his office, which contained three empty bookshelves, a desk, a file cabinet, two other chairs, and a small desk in the corner. Branching off of this was his bedroom, furnished with a bed, fireplace, dresser, and closet. Satisfied, he returned to the classroom.

Not really knowing what to do, he waited for Hermione, who entered the room three minutes later, levitating before her a mass of objects that must have amounted to four times her weight.

"Wow," Harry said, nonplussed. "Am I supposed to use all of that?"

She shrugged. "I thought I'd bring down as much as I could carry, just in case.

Among the items were several of Harry's favorite books on Defense Against the Dark Arts from when he had been teaching the D.A., Professor Moody's Dark Detectors, several fluffy cushions, a huge box of Honeydukes' chocolate (for when he taught Patronuses, she explained), a pickled grindylow, and a high stack of portraits of famous wizards, each of which had a name attached below it. She hung them up happily.

"Flavius Belby," Harry asked, moving closer to one and remembering Professor McGonagall's strange password, "Who was he?" he asked.

"He found that a Patronus charm was the only way to defend yourself against a lethifold," she said distractedly, now straightening the Foe Glass in one corner. Harry decided not to ask was a lethifold was.

Harry could hear students beginning to file past his classroom towards the Great Hall for breakfast. He and Hermione continued to straighten up the room, hanging the remainder of the pictures and putting the pickled grindylow in the closet. Harry, in his nervousness, kept shifting things from place to place. Hermione looked at him sympathetically when he put the pile of cushions in a different corner for the fifth time. "You'll do fine, Harry."

Somewhere in the hall, the bell rang. With a start, Harry spun around, expecting students to begin pouring through the door. Hermione laid a comforting hand on his shoulder. "Calm down," she admonished him. "They won't be here for another couple of minutes. You'll be fine. I have to go."

Harry's throat felt dry as he watched her walk out the door. Cool and composed, Harry, he told himself. He knew, however, that he probably looked quite the opposite.

The door creaked open and the first kids started to filter in. They were first years from Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff, chatting in loud voices. Realizing he had left the schedule Hermione had drawn up for him, he slipped into his office and retrieved it, emerging just as the second bell signaled the start of class.

As he entered the classroom, a hush fell over the assembled eleven-year-olds. The first thing that registered to him was just how small they were; children's faces with bodies that were just beginning to grow. Some looked eager, some smug, others nervous, and a few even fearful. The second thing he noticed was that all their eyes were on him.

Harry, to his utter astonishment, found that he was able to speak in a voice that was only slightly higher than his normal one, and the tremor in it was barely perceivable.

"Good morning," he began, looking around at his students. "Welcome to your first class at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."

He proceeded to do what Hermione had recommended he do; bolster their confidence. "They're scared," she had informed him matter-of-factly. "It's their first day and they're not sure of themselves. They need to know that someone is there for them and that someone believes in them."

"First of all," he said slowly, gazing at them and wondering how people could possibly be so small and yet so intimidating, "I want you to realize that you are all here. You made it. You all have enough magical abilities to be able to come to Hogwarts. That means each of you has the potential to be someone amazing. None of you is better or worse than any other. Some of you may have had more exposure to the magical world, and that will give you an advantage, but the rest of you have the ability to be just as good as them."

They looked at him blankly.

"Look," he said, smiling slightly. "Professor McGonagall selected each of you to come to her school. And believe me, she doesn't make mistakes." He paused thoughtfully. "Make sure you tell her I said that."

No one smiled.

"Tough crowd," Harry said, frowning slightly. "Loosen up a bit, will you? You're making me nervous."

That cracked a few grins.

"Alright," Harry said, picking up and scanning the role. "I have to take attendance, so forgive me if I massacre your name. Say 'here' and raise your hand so I can see who you are. Maria Anderson," he said, looking up.

A girl in the third row raised her hand and said, "Here."

"Good. John Collins?"

A plump boy in the back put up his hand timidly and squeaked, "Here."

Halfway down the list of names, he said, "Jacob McLean?"

The voice that answered made him look up sharply. "Here," the boy drawled lazily.

Harry blinked. The kid's voice reminded him eerily of Draco Malfoy's. Harry scrutinized him suspiciously for a second, deciding that they didn't look enough alike to have any kind of family connection, and said, "Arionna Pusey."

A freckled hand went up, one that belonged to an eager-looking red-haired girl in the front row. Someone, apparently thinking Harry couldn't hear him, muttered, "Freak."

Harry stopped halfway through Kara Quinn's name and looked up sharply. "I'm not going to abide that in my classroom," he said quietly, looking straight at the offender. "If I hear anything of the sort again, you're leaving and not coming back. Is that understood?"

He looked at his hands. "Yes, Professor."

"Thank you. Kara?"

The role finished, Harry set it down and crossed to the closet in the back. Thinking of two of the only names he could remember, he said, "John and Maria, if you could help me please…"

A boy and a girl stood up apprehensively and crossed to him. "Give a textbook to everyone, if you would. Thanks."

Maria took a stack of five books, and John, trying to prove his machismo, took eight. Harry went and sat down behind his desk, surveying the first years for a moment before he spoke.

"As you are all fully aware," he began slowly, trying to phrase what he was going to say just right, "Lord Voldemort has returned and regained the power that terrorized your parents." He noticed the flinches and grimaces that happened at the mention of Voldemort's name. Looking at them sternly, he said, "A very wise man once told me that fear of a name only increases thing of the fear itself." He continued, "Because of this, there aren't nearly as many students here as there have been before. Your parents chose to let you come either because they were unaware of the full extent of the danger, or because they felt you were safer here. Either way, my job is to teach you to defend yourselves. It's even more vital now that Voldemort is back, because he wants you to join him or he wants to hurt you. That's how he is.

"So the things I'm going to teach you this year are the things I think will be most valuable to you in a fight against Voldemort or his followers. A lot of the things you're going to learn are very advanced spells that many adults don't know. It might prove that having as little magical training as you've all had that you won't be able to do some of them, but I don't think that'll happen. I believe that you're all smart enough to perform shields, hexes, Patronuses, et cetera."

Arionna, the red-haired girl on the front row, let out a gasp. "We're going to do _Patronuses?_"

Harry grinned. "Don't tell your parents or they'll think I'm overworking you."

She said something in an excited whisper to a boy sitting next to her, who appeared entirely disinterested. Harry was about to continue, but Arionna asked excitedly, "Can you do a Patronus?"

He chuckled. "I sure hope I can, if I'm the one who's going to be teaching you."

"Will you do it for us?"

"Yeah, Professor, do it!" came a shout from the back of the room. Other students joined their pleading.

Harry shook his head. "Not now."

"Please, Professor?" It was Arionna again. Harry smiled at her eagerness, thinking of Hermione. Perhaps it was this connection that changed his mind.

He sighed. "Alright, but only as long as everyone promises to hand in a twenty-four inch essay on the Patronus Charm next week."

He grinned at the outraged whispers that followed. Some of them looked murderous. "I'm joking, guys. Don't mutiny on me. Here we go."

Summoning up an image of Ginny, he raised his wand and said loudly, "Expecto Patronum!"

An enormous silver stag erupted out of the tip of his wand and cantered around the class once to a chorus of oohs and aahs. Arionna positively beamed as it walked past her and faded into nothingness.

"Satisfied?" Harry asked, stowing his wand back in his robes.

There was a round of applause, which he silenced by grinning sheepishly and saying, "You'll all be able to do that by the end of the year. Though it's a lot harder with an actual dementor there."

There was an outbreak of excited whispers. As Maria gave the last boy a text book and sat down, Harry said loudly, "Alright, if you'll all be quiet enough that I can hear myself think, we're going to start."

Silence prevailed instantly. Harry stood up and motioned for his class to follow him out the door.

He led them to an empty classroom a few doors down. Once everyone was assembled and the talking had died down once more, he explained, "We're going to begin with a spell I learned in my second year hear. It's very handy and fairly easy. Its purpose is to disarm your opponent. The incantation is _expelliarmus._ Say it with me: _expelliarmus!"_

They called it back to him. "Good!" he said encouragingly. "Okay, let me show you what it does. Can I have a volunteer?"

A few people raised their hands, Arionna among them. He pointed to a small, mousy boy who looked rather like he was surprised to find himself volunteering. "Come on up. What's your name again?"

"Neil," he said timidly, stepping forward.

"Alright, Neil, you're going to be my subject for this." The kid looked terrified. Harry smiled. "It's okay, it won't hurt, I promise. It'll just knock your wand out of your hand."

He nodded tremulously and withdrew his wand. Harry pointed his wand at the first year and said clearly, "_Expelliarmus!_"

The wand flew out of Neil's hand and he was knocked back a step. He looked ruffled, but jubilant that he wasn't hurt. Harry snatched the flying wand out of the air. "Good," he said in satisfaction. "Do you think you could do it to me?"

The boy shrugged. "Maybe. I could try."

"Alright, that's all I need." Harry took a defensive stance. Neil apprehensively raised his wand.

"_Expelliarmus!_" he shouted.

Harry felt his wand jerk slightly and his hair flutter, but he didn't lose his wand. Nevertheless, he clapped Neil on the shoulder and said, "Good job! That was a great try. One more time."

This time he was successfully disarmed. He could have held on to the wand if he had tried, but he figured it was the kid's first time, so he'd go easy. The class cheered as Neil joined their ranks, embarrassed but flushed with victory. Harry silenced them with a wave of his hand. "Alright, now I want you all to split into pairs and try it yourselves. Remember to concentrate on what you're doing and don't be careless. We don't want anyone to have to go to the hospital wing before their first class is over."

Harry strolled among the first years, correcting wand grips, reiterating pronunciation, and giving tips. Only a handful managed it in the hour remaining in class, and it was an hour that taught Harry very much about his class. By the end, he could pick out the exceptionally bright ones, the shy and uncertain ones, the popular ones, the cocky ones, and the ones who lacked any motivation whatsoever. Fortunately, there weren't too many of those.

A few minutes before the bell rang, Harry used his wand to create a loud bang, which immediately shushed his pupils.

"Great job," he said, beaming. "The bell's going to ring in a minute, so go ahead and pack up your things. Your homework this week-" there was a collective groan- "is to practice Expelliarmus and have it perfected by next Monday. If you can't get it, come see me and I'll help you."

He remembered something as they began filing out the door. "Oh, and Professor McGonagall asked me if I would hold extra classes once a week after dinner, for anyone who wants to come and get a leg up. It'll be on Friday, in this classroom here. Raise your hand if you think you might want to come, so that I can get a general idea of how many'll be there."

Four students raised their hands, including Arionna and Neil. He smiled slightly as they walked out the door, chatting animatedly.

This whole teacher business might be more fun than he thought.


	16. Returned

I know, I know. It's been forever. I'm really sorry. Two months... hey, it's better than last time, or the time before that, when it took me, what, four months to update? This one's dedicated to SkyHighFan-- it's really only because of him (her? sorry, I don't know) that I wrote this. He nagged me enough to make me feel guilty so that I'd get it done.

Disclaimer: it's too late at night to come up with something clever. It's not mine.

Chapter 16

Returned

The class that he was both looking forward to and dreading the most was just before lunch on Friday. The first three days had gone very well. Although he had stayed up late every night in order to finish the lesson plans Professor McGonagall wanted him to draw up, he felt like he had taken on a job that was actually doable. In fact, he didn't seem to be working nearly as hard as Hermione, who, besides helping him with his lessons, was taking two classes more than anyone else, had her Head Girl duties to worry about, and was still trying to continue the Society for the Promotion of Elfish Welfare she had begun in their fourth year. He didn't feel very stressed at all, even though he spent two hours every evening after dinner giving extra classes as McGonagall had asked. He was amazed at the turnout, however; if he had believed people thought him to be a horrible teacher, he had to revise his thinking when nearly fifty people showed up to Monday evening's session. He had had to ask half of them to leave and come back the next night simply because the room wasn't big enough to accommodate them all. They had finally evened out to a reasonable number by Thursday night.

When Ron asked him at breakfast on Friday morning why he looked so pale, Harry told him it was apprehension for his next class.

Ron looked at him incredulously. "Why that class?" he demanded. "That's our class."

"Exactly."

"You think _we're_ going to give you a hard time?"

Hermione, sitting on Ron's other side with a book propped up against a pitcher of orange juice, answered for him. "It's his first class of seventh years. He's worried because he'll be teaching kids who're the same age as himself."

Ron looked from Hermione to Harry. After a pause, he asked the latter, "Do you think she can read minds, mate?"

Harry shrugged, turning back to his bacon. "Maybe she's just a bit more perceptive than you."

Ron opened his mouth to say something, but Hermione interjected. "We could come with you a few minutes early, Harry."

"Yeah," Ron said, retort forgotten. "Help you get ready and stuff."

Harry accepted gratefully. He was more nervous than he would admit.

They left the Great Hall and made for the classroom. Harry went into his office to retrieve his lesson plan and the roll of parchment with the attendance on it. As he emerged, Ron asked, "What're we doing today?"

"I have a list of basic defensive spells that everyone should know, and I'm going to go through and make sure everyone can do them. If they can't, they can come to the extra study session tonight."

"What spells?"

Harry glanced down at his list. "Expelliarmus, Shield Spell, Boggart Banishing, Severing Spell, Alohomora, Blasting Curse, Body Bind Curse, Impediment Curse…"

Ron let out a low whistle. "We're going to be busy today, then."

Somewhere out in the hall, the bell rang, signaling the end of breakfast. Ron and Hermione sat down in the front row and Harry retreated to his office, he claimed, to grab something. In reality, he needed a second to calm down without anyone watching. He hadn't been this nervous since going to the Riddle House last summer.

He could hear the seventh years entering the classroom, chattering animatedly. When the second bell rang after what felt like forever, Harry emerged from his office.

Instead of quieting down as he expected, the talking grew in intensity. It took several shouts and finally a deafening bang from his wand before silence was restored.

"Alright," he began after clearing his throat. "I want to thank you all for coming, first of all. This is kind of a strange situation for all of us, seeing as most of you are older than I am. I don't profess to be better than you. The only reason I was offered this post is the experience I've had.

"I'm supposed to teach you to defend yourselves against Voldemort-" there was a collective shudder- "and I'm the only one I know—who's alive, at least—who has fought him before. I'm not saying this to brag; I've come this far only through sheer luck and people who care for me. But I know him, and I know him better than anyone else because of these encounters. That's why I'm teaching you, not some auror from the Ministry. Because I know him and I know what he'll try to do. His followers, too. I'm the one who can teach you how to defend yourselves from them."

He surveyed them for a moment, then Dean Thomas raised his hand tentatively. "Uh… Harry? I have a question."

"What is it?"

"Well, uh… I was wondering… We never got told, at the end of last year, there was too much confusion, what with Dumbledore's death and all… and there are rumors, but we have no idea what to believe… anyway, we don't know what happened. We know some general details—obviously, Dumbledore was killed—but we have every right to know what went on, don't we? It's our school, too."

The last statement was fervent and almost defensive. Harry sighed. "I'm not sure whether you weren't told what happened because there was too much confusion or because Professor McGonagall didn't want you to be told, but I agree, Dean. It's your school, too. You have a right to know the facts. It's better than hearing only exaggerated rumors, anyway."

"You'll tell us, then?" he asked, almost unable to believe his ears. A fierce whispering had broken out among the rest of the class.

Hoping he wouldn't regret it later, Harry nodded. "Yes, I'll tell you."

So he told them. He told them everything, down to the smallest detail, though he made it sound as if Dumbledore had been off on a mysterious errand alone and he himself had simply followed Malfoy up the stairs without being noticed. No need to be bombarded with questions about where they had been. He'd had enough of that.

The only person who knew that he had been with Dumbledore that night, besides Ron and Hermione, at least, sat still and said nothing. Neville Longbottom looked as though he had lost weight over the last few months. He had gained confidence since their first year—he no longer seemed embarrassed to ask a question or nervous and awkward around people—but be had also acquired a sadness of sorts. He looked melancholy, as though he had grown older than his seventeen years. It saddened Harry to see him like this; the years had taken their toll on him. He counted Neville as a very good friend.

"And Snape and Malfoy got past the gates and Disapparated." He finished his tale with no small relief; reliving that night was not one of his favorite pastimes.

Silence pervaded the room for a few more seconds, then an intense whispering started up. They were learning the truth of what had happened for the first time.

A Slytherin in the back of the classroom spoke up. "Snape… he… he really did kill Professor Dumbledore?"

Harry nodded slowly.

Dean spoke next. "There were rumors before, but we never really knew… the Prophet never said anything… What about the guy who was slashed by that werewolf who hadn't changed? Ron's brother?"

"Bill's fine. He got married last month…" But then he remembered what he was saying. Bill's wife had died barely an hour after the ceremony. Fleur Delacour was dead. He found that a lump had risen in his throat, and he was unable to continue.

"Wait…" said Parvati Patil. "That was in the news, though. I remember it because I remembered reading your last name, Ron… Didn't the Death Eaters kill her just after their wedding?"

Harry nodded miserably, wishing he had never brought it up. Ron was looking at his hands, and Harry could see that his eyes were filled with tears, more for Bill than for Fleur, for whom he had no particular love. He decided to change the subject.

"Well, I'm supposed to be teaching you something," Harry said loudly as Ron tried to wiped his eyes inconspicuously. "We're going to start out with just a testing day, to see what everyone knows. There's a list on my desk that has about twenty spells on it, and they're ones that you should be able to do. I want you to pair up and go do them all in order. If you can't do one or more of them, talk to me after class, please. Go ahead."

They paired off and began performing the spells, Harry walking around them and correcting the occasional error here and there. However, his mind was not really on the class. Instead, it was dwelling over everything that had happened since Dumbledore's death.

He had joined the Order of the Phoenix. He had accepted a teaching post at Hogwarts. Domohov Bokonovsky, a Death Eater, had been voted Minister of Magic. He had discovered the identity of R.A.B. He had retrieved a Horcrux from the Riddle House. He had found a way to destroy the Horcruxes. Bill and Fleur had been married, and then Fleur had died. He had talked to Dumbledore's portrait, and in doing so, another Horcrux was revealed. And now he was teaching classes.

Suddenly the sheer weight of the events of the last few months crashed down on him, and he wanted to curl up and cry. He slipped into his office and shut the door, sinking weakly against it.

Once he had regained his composure, he went back out. It was only another few minutes before the bell rang once more, signaling the end to class. Harry called out to the students heading out the door, "Every day after dinner there's an extra defense class, if anyone's interested. Those who had problems with the spells, please come see me."

Only about five hung back. Harry was rather proud to see that none of them had belonged to the D.A. in their fifth year. He informed them that he expected them all to come to the extra class at least once a week until they could do the spells properly.

He had one more class, then lunch, and then a free period. He used that to draw up a homework assignment for each of his classes the following week. Then came dinner, and then the defense class, and then he was done for the day.

Realizing that he hadn't yet been to see Hagrid, Harry decided he would that evening. After his classroom was vacated for the last time, he grabbed his cloak and went outside, deciding to go without Ron and Hermione for once because he thought he might want to talk to Hagrid alone. Students weren't allowed outside after dark without a teacher present, but Harry reminded himself smugly that he was a teacher.

Hagrid wasn't at home. Harry figured he was off doing his gamekeeper duties, and he decided to take a walk around the grounds to sort out his thoughts. He strolled along the edge of the Forbidden Forest, reflecting.

Four Horcruxes had been stolen from Voldemort: the diary, the staff, the timeturner, and the ring. Remaining were only three: the cup, the locket, and Voldemort himself. At least, that's what Dumbledore had thought they were, and he trusted Dumbledore's judgment.

Though the end of last year had taught him not to do so blindly. Dumbledore had been wrong, and it had cost him his life. He had trusted Snape, and Snape had killed him. And if Dumbledore had told him about the prophecy earlier, Sirius might not have died.

So he trusted Dumbledore's judgment. For the most part.

Harry found himself dwelling on Sirius, and it was the first time he had allowed himself to do so in months. The first time he had seen him, bitter, gaunt, and desperate. All his help in his fourth year trying to get through the Triwizard Tournament alive. Fenced in, walled up in a house he hated so much, unable to roam free because of the price on his head. The laughter that hadn't quite died from his face when the jet of light hit him in the chest. His body falling as though in slow motion in a smooth, almost graceful arc. The final fluttering of the veil in the Department of Mysteries….

"Hey, Harry."

Someone had come up behind him, taking him by surprise. Harry looked over, blinking. It was Jorden Andrews. "Oh, hi."

"What're you doing out?"

He shrugged. "Just walking. It's a nice night."

Jorden grinned happily, gazing at the sky. "I love autumn. It's beautiful."

The moon was out and nearly full, and it glinted off the lake and cast eerie shadows across the grounds. Harry could see the Whomping Willow in the distance, guarding a hole that led to the Shrieking Shack, where he had first seen Sirius.

He forced his mind away from Sirius.

"What about you?" he asked. "What're you doing?"

He shrugged. "I'm friends with the gamekeeper here, Hagrid, and I wanted to talk to him. But he's out."

"Really?" Harry asked, intrigued. "I didn't know you knew each other."

"Are you friends with him, too?"

Harry nodded. "That's why I was out here, actually… How d'you know him?"

Jorden smiled modestly. "I'm… I have a way with animals. I was always sneaking into the Forbidden Forest when I was at school, and Hagrid would have to come find me. We got to know each other, though he was never too happy about it…"

Harry laughed. It felt good to laugh.

"I would ask the same of you."

Harry had to think about that a second. It had been a long time. "He was the one who told me I was a wizard. Dumbledore sent him to my aunt and uncle's house to tell me. Terrified them out of their wits." Harry grinned as the memory of a pig's tail flashed in front of his eyes. That was one night he would never forget.

"You didn't know? Didn't your aunt and uncle know you were a wizard? I mean, your parents were, and so your aunt and uncle must've known."

"How do you know?" Harry demanded.

He chuckled. "Harry, you're an entire chapter in our history books nowadays. 'Harry Potter: the Boy Who Lived.'"

Harry felt himself flushing and was very glad it was dark. Jorden, however, seemed to catch his mood. "I'm sorry," he said sheepishly. "I didn't mean to embarrass you. I know you didn't ask for all the attention."

Harry shrugged. "It's alright. I—"

But he was cut short by a noise from across the grounds. They both paused, and they made out a yell: "Stupefy!"

A jet of red light shot across Harry's vision. Something was happening by the gates. Harry glanced at Jorden, who shrugged, and began to sprint towards the commotion, pulling out his wand. Jorden wasn't two steps behind him.

More shouts, more spells. Harry could see what they were being aimed at now. It was a man, hooded and cloaked, and he was sending spells at three other people in a hoarse voice. They hit the man with several spells, but they didn't seem to have any effect.

Seeing this, Harry abandoned all thoughts of magic and simply body slammed him. The man didn't see him coming. He didn't have a chance.

Harry fell on top of him and fought back as the man punched and kicked and cursed. The others were there in an instant. One grabbed his wrists and forced them to the ground, taking his wand, another sat on him. Jorden yanked his hood back.

Harry recoiled, shocked, then angry. Long, matted blond hair fell from a prominent forehead and over piercing gray eyes. A proud jaw and haughty gaze were by far the most memorable features. Harry would never—could never—forget him.

"Malfoy," he spat.

He looked horrible; his eyes were sunken into his face, and his skin was paler than the last time Harry had seen him. His hair was matted and filthy, his robe torn, and his face scratched and bleeding. He looked half mad.

"Hello, Potter," he said, glaring at him. "Doing well, I see."

"Yes, very well, thanks," he said coldly. "Tie him up."

Harry stood up and looked around for the first time, and to his surprise, Tonks was standing beside him. He had forgotten that there was a guard of aurors around Hogwarts all the time.

"Wotcher, Harry," she said.

Harry couldn't help but smile. "Hello, Tonks." He returned his attention to Malfoy. "What're you doing here?" he demanded.

"I was going to kill you, Potter," he rasped, grinning manically. "I would've. You took everything from me. You and your precious Dumbledore. My family, my status… you, Potter, I will _kill_ you…"

Harry wasn't frightened by his threats. Malfoy had always wanted to kill him. He couldn't see how he worked out that Harry had been the cause of his demise, but then, he was insane. He must've been.

What Harry felt far more than fear was pity. As much as Malfoy had bullied him, taunted him, embarrassed him, Harry couldn't help but feel sorry for the wretch. He had ruined his own life, killed his own prospects, and was now simply desperate. He was petty, he was a bully, but he was not evil. He wasn't able to kill Dumbledore when it had come to it. He almost pitied him as much as he hated him.

The other two aurors dragged him off towards the castle dungeons, still muttering death threats, towards the dungeons. Tonks stayed a moment longer. "I have to go tell the Ministry," she said. "Any attacks on the castle are supposed to be reported, though I hardly think they were expecting a raving eighteen-year-old with a grudge to try to get in single-handedly. There are still three other aurors patrolling the grounds, if anyone asks, on the other side."

Harry nodded. "Thanks."

"Nah, thank you. We'd have got him eventually, but he was repelling spells… I don't know why. It might be that he has some sort of armor on underneath his robes. Might want to check that. We'll probably have him carted off to Azkaban by morning, though, so don't worry too much about it."

"Alright."

"Who's your friend?" she asked, gesturing towards Jorden.

"Oh. Jorden Andrews, meet Nymphadora Tonks."

"Harry…" she said warningly.

"Except don't call her Nymphadora, or she'll hex you."

She muttered something incoherent, shook Jorden's hand, and said, "Well, I must be off. Duty calls." She stepped outside the gate, waved cheerily, and Disapparated.

Harry and Jorden headed back up to the castle. It was after hours, so no one was in the corridors; the encounter hadn't caused much of a ruckus.

"Did you know that kid?" he asked as they mounted the steps to the oak front doors.

"Yes," Harry said darkly. "Not an acquaintance worth mentioning, I'm afraid."

He smiled. "I gathered that much."

Harry exhaled slowly. "He doesn't deserve to go to Azkaban. I spent my whole life wishing I could send him there, but now I don't think he should go. He's not a killer."

"Despite his vehement death threats?"

Harry shrugged. "He's wanted to kill me since our first year. I daresay the death threat thing has gotten rather old." He smiled slightly. The first week wasn't even over. He had to wonder what the rest of the year would bring.


	17. The Dark Lord's Revenge

Alas, I had to change it. This is NOT chapter 18. It's chapter 17 rewritten. I was going to let it go, but here's the thing: what happened in the first version of Ch. 17 was really not supposed to happen until the end. I thought I could bump it forward a bit—or a lot, rather—but it's just not going to work. I would have to completely rethink my ending, and I think it's better if I just stick to the original plot. I know what you're all going to say; 'you should plan things out before you post them,' or 'when you post something, you should be sure it's final' or something. I know. I know I know I know. I'm sorry, I just didn't think. A lot of this chapter will sound similar to the first version; I used a few pages of it, just with a bit of a different twist.

So if you need to, go back and reread chapter 16 so that you know from what point I'm changing it. Forget the discarded chapter ever happened. Again, I have to thank SkyHighFan for making me do this one. If you're lucky, he'll keep me on my toes and you'll get chapters more often.

Anyway, enjoy. And if you're mad at me for changing it, I'll write another chapter sometime this week. 

Chapter 17

The Dark Lord's Revenge

"Harry Potter, sir! Harry Potter, please wake up!"

Harry rolled over groggily and groped for his glasses in the semi-darkness of predawn. Once he found them and shoved them onto his nose, he blinked several times and found himself face to face with Dobby the house elf.

"Whasgoinon?" he asked blearily.

"Professor McGonagall wishes to see Harry Potter, sir. She is down in the dungeons. She sent Dobby up to fetch Harry Potter, sir."

"What does she need?"

Dobby shrugged. "Dobby does not know, sir. But he is very glad that Professor McGonagall allowed him to come up and see Harry Potter."

"Good to see you too, Dobby. Tell her I'm coming."

"Dobby will, sir!" he squeaked, and vanished immediately.

Harry stood up, stretched, and pulled his robes over his head. Ten minutes later found him descending the stairs into the dungeons.

Professor McGonagall was waiting outside the door of what was once a cell that had been converted into a classroom. She looked impatient. "Oh, good, Potter, you're here. I need your help."

"Doing what, Professor?" Harry asked rather apprehensively.

She sighed. "The ministry has decided that because Azkaban is no longer a safe place to put criminals, the Malfoy boy is to remain here, under lock and key at all times." Her nostrils flared sharply. "I would say that is a good thing, as I don't believe he deserves Azkaban, but I would rather have him imprisoned elsewhere, someplace that there are not hundreds of students whom, if he got loose, he could harm greatly."

When she didn't go on, he inquired, "What do you need me to do?"

"He's demanded that he be allowed to speak to you."

"Why? So that he can tell me he wants to kill me?"

She shook her head. "He won't say. He won't say anything except 'let me speak to Potter.'"

Harry glanced at the cell door. "I dunno if I want to go in there. Last night his life's goal was to dismember me."

She smiled slightly. "He's tied to a chair and he doesn't have his wand. I think you'll be fine."

"Alright," Harry said, unconvinced. As unarmed as he was, he was mad; he could try anything.

"I'll be right here. Don't worry, Potter. You're supposed to be the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. You've handled much worse than an unarmed, raving seventeen-year-old."

She had a point. Harry flipped the latches on the heavy door, pushed it open, and walked inside.

It was dark and musty inside; the only light came from a single brazier mounted next to the door. In the center of the room stood a high-backed chair, to which Draco Malfoy was tied.

"Hello, Potter," he said sneeringly. Awfully cocky for someone in his position, Harry thought.

"What do you want?" Harry demanded, shutting the door behind him.

"I want to kill you, obviously."

Harry snorted. "What else is new? If that's it, then, I'll be going."

"No, stay." While the command was overlaid with Malfoy's usual drawling, imperious tone, there was a hint—just the barest trace—of desperation in his voice. It was this that made Harry stop.

"Alright," he sighed, turning back to face his old nemesis. "Then cut the crap and tell me why you wanted to talk to me."

Malfoy was silent for a moment before he said slowly, "I have information."

"Not information I can trust," Harry assured him. "You'll have to do better than that."

When he spoke, there was a vehement hiss in his voice. "It's important information, Potter. Trust me. It's about one of the Weasels."

Harry let out a humorless laugh. "Trust you?" he said incredulously, overlooking the slight on his friend's last name and turning his back on him. "You'd do better to ask the giant squid to plant petunias. It's not going to happen."

Malfoy's eyes narrowed. "You'll regret it, Potter. Believe me, if you don't listen to me, you'll be sorry."

Harry turned to face him. "Then tell me," he spat. "I'll judge whether it's worth listening to."

"Not without something in return," he said slyly.

Harry shook his head. "Then why didn't you just tell McGonagall? Why ask for me? I have nothing to give you."

"My freedom, perhaps."

"And what would you do with it? You had it, and you single-handedly tried to attack the castle. You'll just get caught again. Goodbye, Malfoy."

Harry whirled around and stalked out the door. Professor McGonagall raised her eyebrows. "What did he want?" she asked.

"To tell me he wanted to kill me," he said, fuming. Half of himself was angry at Malfoy, and the other half was furious with himself for letting Malfoy get to him like that. Professor McGonagall didn't even try to stop him as he left.

Ron and Hermione obviously noted his mood at breakfast that morning. Finally, after Harry spilled his pumpkin juice for the second time, swore at Neville when he asked for the bacon, and nearly set the table on fire by a accident, Hermione asked, "What on earth is wrong, Harry?"

In a dark, moody undertone, Harry told them about Malfoy. Hermione clapped her hands over her mouth, and Ron, apart from looking rather sleepy, raised his eyebrows. Harry grumpily took a bite of toast while Hermione looked from him to Ron.

"What if he's working for—for Voldemort?" she asked in an anxious whisper.

Harry shook his head. "I don't think so. He's on the run from Voldemort."

"But Harry," she hissed, "it all makes sense. Voldemort sends him to spy on the castle, so he pretends to be raving and gets imprisoned in here. And then, to kill two birds with one stone, he asks for his freedom in return for information. You get faulty information that could be fatal, and he gets out. Don't you see it?"

Harry considered it, but—perhaps it had something to do with his dour mood—rejected it. "No. Voldemort…"

"Voldemort is _clever_, Harry. He would know that the Order would think that Malfoy is on the run from him, so if he _used_ him, it would be the last thing we'd expect."

"Hermione, give it a rest," Ron implored her, reaching across Harry for the pancakes. "He's had a tough day."

Because it was Saturday, Ron and Harry took their brooms out to the Quidditch field as Ron had tryouts that evening and wanted some extra practice. Hermione trailed along behind them, doing some extra Charms work to help her on her N.E.W.T.s, and sat in the stand while they threw a Quaffle back and forth, playing a sort of one-on-one game. When it started raining, they trudged back inside and up to the common room to do their homework. Harry got out his lesson plans and started thinking up ideas on how to teach the third-years about Lethifolds, the deadly, shadowlike creatures that smothered you in your sleep.

Between the heat of the fire and the low hum of noise in the common room, Harry dozed off and was soon snoring in his seat. He started awake when Ron hissed, "Harry!"

Harry blinked blearily and looked up. Ron was holding… Hedwig. He placed her on Harry's shoulder. "What're you doing here, huh?" Harry asked his owl. She nipped him gently on the ear and held out her leg. There was a tightly-furled scroll tied to it. He shot her a confused look; he had gone up to the owlry a few days before and seen her fly off to hunt, but why was she returning with a letter? Why hadn't she come at breakfast? Who was writing to him?

Eagerly, he unrolled the scroll as Hedwig took off and soared out the open window.

_Harry,_

_I was going to send this with a different owl, _

_but Hedwig showed up and I figured she'd_

_have a better chance of finding you that mine._

_Smart bird you've got yourself. Also,_

_I'm not sending it in time for breakfast _

_because I'm afraid someone might be there_

_to read over your shoulder._

_I need to talk to you. It's urgent, and I can't_

_write it down for fear that this owl will be _

_intercepted. Be in your office at ten tonight _

_and I'll contact you through Floo powder. _

_Ron and Hermione can be there if they want. _

_Don't tell anyone, even anyone you trust, _

_what you're going to be doing. This is very _

_important Harry—please, do everything you _

_can to be there. I don't like to keep you in_

_the dark, but it's dangerous to put anything _

_in writing. Be on your guard._

_Best wishes,_

_Remus Lupin_

They sat in silence for several long moments.

"Something's gone wrong," Hermione said in a mortified whisper. "It must've."

"I dunno," Harry said grimly, setting fire to the letter with a tap from his wand. "Sure sounds like it…"

"Then why didn't he just ask Professor McGonagall to tell you, rather than this secret meeting?" Ron asked, brow furrowed.

"Have either of you seen Professor McGonagall today?" he asked.

"No," Hermione said worriedly. "Something's wrong, Harry, I know it."

Harry cancelled that evening's extra class in order to allow himself some time to think. He retreated to his office after dinner. Though both of them had promised to be back by ten, Ron had Quidditch tryouts, and Hermione had Head Girl duties, so he was left alone.

The light outside slowly faded, leaving Harry in darkness. He didn't bother to light a lamp. The minutes ticked by, and every second, his worries deepened. Left to wander, his mind had strayed automatically towards the worst possibilities: the Order of the Phoenix had been discovered and destroyed, the Death Eaters had made a mass movement and were killing thousands, Voldemort had performed some act that made him all-powerful. His only consolation was that Lupin would be showing up in less than half an hour to tell him what was going on.

Hermione entered at a quarter to ten after patrolling the halls and suggested they light a fire. Harry shrugged his consent, not feeling very inclined to speak. They remained silent until Ron showed up some seven minutes later, sodden, mud splattered and disgruntled.

"It started raining again," he said irritably, tossing his Cleansweep down. "And she kept drilling us, the ruthless torturer."

"Who's the captain this year?" Harry asked.

"Ginny."

"_Ginny?!_"

The reply came from both Harry and Hermione, who looked at each other, dumbfounded. Ron looked from one to the other. "You didn't know? I thought she'd at least have told you, Harry."

Harry, rather disgruntled, shook his head.

"She's good, you know, even if she never played before two years ago. No one else is any better, though there are a lot who're much worse."

"Did you make the team?"

"Yeah."

At that moment, there was a whirring sound from the direction of the fireplace. Harry, Ron, and Hermione turned around expectantly. Indeed, a moment later, Remus Lupin stepped into the room.

He let out a sigh of relief upon seeing them. Harry grinned, but it faded as he surveyed Lupin.

There was a cut beneath his eye, and his lip was swollen. There was a bruise on his left jaw. He seemed to be limping slightly as he crossed the room and hugged Harry roughly. "I'm glad you're safe, all of you," turning from Harry and embracing Ron and Hermione in turn.

"What happened?" Harry demanded. "You look horrible."

Lupin looked more tired than ever. He sank into a chair and ran his hands through his graying hair. "Sit down. I need to show you a memory."

Intrigued, Harry accepted a corked flask from Lupin.

"Drink some of it," he said. "It'll show you the memory."

Harry took a swig of the liquid and coughed violently, spraying it everywhere. "It tastes horrible," he said hoarsely.

"It's the tang of the memory. I might explain later. Drink some more and actually swallow it this time. Then give it to Ron and Hermione."

Harry did so, and felt himself becoming sleepy. The moment he shut his eyes, a sort of vision began.

He was in a musty room with old, moth-eaten furniture. It was small and dimly-lit, with a messy desk in one corner and a coffee table bordered on either side with a dusty sofa. There was one door and one small, dirty window on an adjacent wall. Other than that, the room was bare.

Two men sat on one sofa, across from a third. Harry recognized the two: Remus Lupin and Bill Weasley. The third one was a small, ugly man with long, yellow fingernails and a large beer belly. He looked rather like a disproportionate rat minus the tail.

"So whatcha want from me?" the man asked darkly, glaring at his visitors. He had a thick American accent and greedy brown eyes.

Lupin, who looked rather disgusted at the filthiness of his surroundings, leaned forward slightly. "We're looking for information."

"Yeah, I gathered that," the man spat. "Info comes at a price."

Bill shook his coat slightly and it made a jingling noise. "We can pay."

"What is it you wanna know?"

Lupin answered. "How much do you know about Domohov Bokonovsky?"

"Minister of Magic?" he asked.

"No, the other one," Bill sneered.

The man ignored him. "Enough."

"Name your price."

"Fifty galleons."

Bill nearly choked. "Fifty galleons? You've got to be kidding."

Lupin nudged him warningly. "Thirty."

Bill looked at him incredulously. "Thirty?"

He silenced him with a look. The man scowled. "Forty."

"Thirty-five."

The man thought a moment. "Deal," he grunted, and spat in his palm, holding it out to Lupin. When he didn't take it, he wiped it on his pants. "Alright, then, pay me half first, I'll tell you the stuff, and if it's to your liking, you can pay me the rest."

Lupin nodded. "Alright."

Bill looked mad. Thirty-five galleons was a lot of money. However, Harry was glad to see he was recovered enough to help the Order and be interested in something other than Fleur's death.

The man drew a deep breath. "Accedo letum."

"Pardon?" Lupin said, leaning closer.

But at that moment, shapes began to materialize around them, robed, masked figures. In an instant, there were wand tips at both Bill's and Lupin's throats.

Harry knew the masks all too well: they were Death Eaters, about twelve of them. "Stand up slowly and drop your wands," one of them growled. "There are thirteen wands aimed at you, so don't make any sudden moves."

Lupin glanced around, then stood up slowly, extricated his wand from his belt, and tossed it to the ground. "They outnumber us, Bill," he said softly. "They'll wipe you out in less than a second."

There was silence for a moment. "Then let them," Bill muttered. He sprang up and a red jet of light shot out of the end of his wand, hitting the nearest Death Eater in the stomach. But there were twelve more of them and one of him. He blocked the first three spells, but the last one hit him. It was a green jet of light. In an instant, he was writhing and twisting on the ground, screaming in agony. Harry knew what it was from very painful experience: the Cruciatus Curse.

"Stop!" Lupin cried, lunging forward, but two Death Eaters caught him by the shoulders and twisted his hands behind his back. He had stooped down to grab his wand, but he wasn't fast enough. Harry wanted to intervene, but he knew—also from experience—that he was naught but a shadow, and he could do nothing.

Eventually the Death Eater who had been holding the curse lifted his wand, and Bill lay still, panting and moaning in anguish. Lupin's face was twisted in an angered grimace, and he glared at the man who had uttered the curse. Someone else muttered an incantation, and ropes sprang out of the end of his wand to wrap around Bill, binding him effectively. The man who had betrayed them to the Death Eaters with the words Accedo Letum—obviously a signal to materialize—was collecting a pocketful of gold from one of the Death Eaters

A tall wizard approached Lupin and stood before him. Lupin was breathing hard and glaring defiantly at the man in front of him, but Harry saw him glance worriedly at Bill, who was breathing raggedly with his eyes closed in pain.

"Your Order has something we want," said the man in a deep voice.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Lupin snarled.

The man's fist sank into his stomach, and he doubled over, fighting for breath. The men who were holding him forced him back up. "Your Order has something we want," he repeated, "and we expect it. A certain map. In return for his—" he pointed at Bill—"life."

Harry felt himself inhale sharply.

"I… I have no idea… what you mean," he gasped. This time the fist struck him in the face, and he moaned in pain.

"In fifteen days, we will be at the mouth of the Thames, at midnight. At that point, you can trade it. If you're not there, then you'll find his body washed up in Oxford."

Lupin glanced at Bill and back at the man, shaking his head helplessly. "At least tell me what it is, then you might—"

But he never finished his sentence. The man's fist swung back and delivered a strong upper cut to his left jaw, and then he swung in with his foot and kicked his shin hard enough to make him fall. As he went unconscious, the vision faded into blackness.

"Harry," Lupin said urgently as he blinked to rid his eyes of the memory, "you three are always running around without telling us what you're doing. Do you have any information… anything regarding the map, or Bill, or…"

Harry gulped and shook his head. He had thought, before the Death Eater had clarified that the object was a map, that Voldemort had discovered the missing Horcruxes and wanted them back, and he would have to make a choice between the Horcrux and Bill's life. He had to admit, he was rather relieved.

"When did this happen?" he asked.

"Early yesterday."

Then something occurred to him, something Malfoy had said that morning. 'It's about one of the Weasels…'

"I don't know anything," Harry said slowly, glancing at Ron, who looked shocked and scared, "But I know someone who might…."

"Malfoy," Hermione gasped.

"Wait here," Harry said. "He won't want to see you. I'll be right back." He left without giving them a chance to argue.

As a teacher, he was allowed in the corridors after hours. Though Filch shot him a nasty look as he passed, he couldn't do anything. Meeting hardly anyone, Harry made his way down to the dungeons. As he descended the steps, however, he heard voices, which he certainly hadn't expected. Deciding that he wanted to see them before they saw him, he pulled his invisibility cloak—which he had taken to carrying around—out of his pocket and pulled it over his head, descending the steps as quietly as he could.

The scene that met his eyes nearly made his heart stop.

Twenty or more hooded figures stood in the hallway, cloaked and wearing masks. More Death Eaters. One of them was jiggling the latch that led to Malfoy's cell.

Harry's mind was racing. They sent a whole contingent of Death Eaters to get someone Voldemort wanted dead? How did they get in? Was Malfoy with them or against them? Why were they targeting Malfoy and only Malfoy when they had the opportunity to destroy Hogwarts staring them in the face?

Someone spoke quietly, and Harry could only barely make out the words. "Gavin, I think we have a visitor. Would you take care of him?"

Harry turned to run, knowing he was the 'visitor' whom the man had referred to, but he hadn't made it two steps before he was caught in a Body Bind Curse. He toppled heavily and landed on the stairs slamming his head against a cold stone edge. Stars suffocated his vision and he thought for a moment he was going to pass out.

Two of the Death Eaters were walking towards him, and one had his mask off. What scared Harry was not that he had two of Lord Voldemort's servants advancing on him, but that the man whose face was visible appeared to have the same sort of magical eye as Mad-Eye Moody. It was larger than the other and spun around in his head, and it was obviously how he had seen through Harry's invisibility cloak.

"He's over there, Gavin. And it looks to me like it is Harry Potter."

There were some interested murmurs from the remainder of the Death Eaters, and the man with the magical eye approached him and yanked the invisibility cloak off.

Gaving leered down at him. "The Dark Lord will reward us greatly for bringing him Harry Potter."

"No, Gavin," the other said sharply. "That was not part of our mission."

"But we could—"

"We will leave him here," the other said coldly, and his voice was like icy daggers. "When we are instructed to bring Potter to the Dark Lord, we will bring him, but not until then. Leave him there, he can be a witness. Let him wonder."

Harry's heart was pounding. He had no way to get out of this predicament, though from the looks of it, at least they weren't going to take him to Voldemort.

The others had managed to get the door open, and three went inside. There were sounds of a brief scuffle, and finally, they emerged with Malfoy, all three wands pointed at him. At least he wasn't on their side.

"Servants of the Dark Lord," said a voice that Harry recognized all too well: Lucius Malfoy, Draco's father. His voice was hoarse and constricted, and it almost sounded as though he had been crying. "We face the treason of one of our brothers. The pact that he sealed with his blood he has broken, and the Dark Lord demands retribution. His sentence is…"

At first, Harry thought he must have been imagining, but a moment later, he realized he was not. Malfoy's voice had broken, and he could hardly continue. "His sentence is to… to see his father torture and murder his mother and then be left to the mercy of those who are against the Dark Lord. Let justice be done."

The Death Eaters parted, and for the first time, Harry could see what was at their feet. A broken, chained woman with black hair and tattered robes, she knelt with her hands behind her back and her face was tear-streaked. Harry heard Draco whisper, "Mother…"

And then Lucius hit her with the Cruciatus Curse. Narcissa Malfoy screamed, and with her screamed her son, fighting with all his might to free himself but being entirely unsuccessful. Lucius, though his face looked damp, seemed resolute and unfeeling as he tortured his own wife and by doing so, his own son.

Harry, knowing full well what Narcissa was going through, and, even though she was a Death Eater, he tried to stop it, wanted to do something, but the Body Bind curse had rendered him immobile. When it finally lifted, he was near sobbing as well.

And then there was a blinding flash of green light, and all was over.

"Let's go. Someone will have heard it."

His hatred, anger, and disbelief written all over his face, Draco Malfoy screamed.


	18. Monumental Moments

Yeah, thanks for reviewing, everyone. I'm really feeling the support here.

Just because it's hard to tell in writing and out of context, I'm going to tell you something. That was sarcasm.

This is for Issy, because she actually reviewed the last one. It's only been a week this time, so you can't get mad at me.

Disclaimer: Not mine. Duh. Actually, it's not all JK Rowling's, either. I stole something from Dickens' Tale of Two Cities. Excellent book, by the way. If you know what it is I stole, tell me, or try to guess.

Here we go again. I present to you… Harry Potter and the Lord of Darkness!

Chapter 18

Monumental Moments

Headlong, mad, and dangerous footsteps to force their way into anybody's life, footsteps not easily made clean again if once stained red, the footsteps raging in the prison cell that would not release its almost inhuman captive.

"Harry!" came the call from the corridor above him. "Harry, where are you? Answer me!"

Much as Harry would've liked to have answered Lupin's plea, he couldn't. The Death Eaters hadn't lifted their curse before they had gone, and he couldn't budge an inch. He heard figures at the top of the stairs, saw the glow from their wands, and heard a simultaneous gasp from three people—presumably Ron, Hermione, and Lupin—as the scene met their eyes.

Harry heard Lupin mutter the counter-curse as he took the stairs down two at a time and crouched next to him. Harry sat up stiffly.

Lupin put a shaking, pale hand on his shoulder for a brief instant, then pulled him into a rough embrace. "Thank goodness," he muttered quietly.

"Harry, what happened?" Ron asked, bewildered.

Taking a deep breath, Harry launched into his tale. The headlong, mad, and dangerous footsteps in the cell stopped as he spoke, listening quietly.

When Harry was done, Hermione raised her wand apprehensively, and the glowing tip cast its light further down the corridor, revealing the crumpled black heap that was the lifeless form of Narcissa Malfoy. Lupin crossed to her and checked her pulse, but shook his head slowly. "You remain, Harry, the only one to have survived the Killing Curse."

The footsteps resumed.

"How did they get in?" Hermione asked fearfully. "The castle was supposed to be impregnable."

"We need to tell Professor McGonagall," Harry said urgently, standing up and retrieving his wand from where it had clattered to the ground.

"She's not here," Lupin said, shaking his head and swallowing hard. "We can't get to her."

"Who's the assistant headmistress, then?" Harry demanded.

Lupin looked at Hermione, who shrugged and glanced at Ron, who stared back at her. "You don't _know_?" he said, shocked. "_Hermione Granger _doesn't know?"

"Be quiet, Ron," the ignorant one in question snapped. "You're not helping."

Harry, his own pacing footsteps echoing the ones that emanated from the cell down the corridor, made a decision. "I have to talk to him."

Before any of them could stop him, he crossed to the cell door, unlocked it, and went inside.

Silver moonlight cast the room into an eerie glow, making the figure that paced up and down, up and down, appear far more sinister. Harry shut the door behind him. Malfoy didn't even glance up.

"You said you had information on one of the Weasleys," Harry said quietly.

He said nothing.

"I'm willing to offer you something for it."

The footsteps stopped.

"They killed my mother, Potter," Malfoy said softly.

He seemed more quiet and pensive—less insane—than he had earlier. This surprised Harry.

"I know," he replied quietly. "I watched them."

Malfoy glanced sharply at Harry. "But it wasn't just them," he said, gazing at him with eyes blazing in anger. But for once, the anger was not directed at him. His voice was hoarse, and it was filled with a harsh, utter loathing. "It was him. My father."

Harry hesitated. "I'm sorry," he told him.

"I don't need your pity, Potter." He paused. "I looked up to him. My whole life, I looked up to him. He was noble, honorable, strong, and powerful, and I… I revered him. I wanted nothing more than to be like him. I thought that he would die for what he believed, die for me, die for… die for my mother." His voice broke, and Harry could see the moonlight reflecting off the thin lines of wet tears that traced his face. "He's not who I thought he was."

Harry was silent. He knew what Malfoy was feeling, and it tore at his heart. His own parents had been betrayed by one whom they had thought to be a friend.

"We are not so different, you and I," Malfoy said softly, not looking at Harry. "Not anymore."

There was silence for a long moment, each absorbed in his own thoughts, each of whom a seventeen-year-old boy who had faced more than any seventeen-year-old should have had to, each of whom had lost his parents, each of whom was at that moment no more than a child, lost and unsure where to turn.

"Potter," Malfoy said hoarsely. "I know where Bill Weasley is."

"What do you want in return?"

There was silence for a moment, and then: "Only your trust."

Harry gazed at him intently, and, as much as he had always despised Malfoy, he knew that he was sincere. "You have it," Harry said quietly, extending his hand.

Hesitantly, Malfoy took it.


	19. He Won't Die

In celebration of my school being cancelled today because of the snow, I decided to write a chapter. Everyone cheer for Jarlaxle. It's been a while this time. Newsflash, I know. At least it hasn't been more than a month, like some of my previous updates….

Chapter 19

"He Won't Die"

"The Order will take care of it, Harry," Lupin said firmly.

"I'm part of the Order," Harry retorted furiously. "I want to help."

"I meant the part of the Order that has no obligation to stay alive and out of Voldemort's clutches. We'll get him out of there, don't worry. You have a duty to fulfill here, one that's at least as important as rescuing Bill."

They were back in Harry's office once again. Lupin sat, looking very tired, in an armchair by the fire, and Harry paced madly up and down. Hermione leaned against a wall, deep in thought, and Ron was spread-eagle on the rug, his hands locked behind his head, looking from Harry to Lupin as their argument continued.

"It won't take away from my teaching duties to be gone for one or two nights," Harry persisted.

"Yes, but what if your killed? Or captured? Do you have any idea what kind of repercussions that would have on the Order?"

"I won't!" he protested.

"If Malfoy is to be believed, Bill is being held secretly at Pendragon Castle in Cumbria. There are a lot of rumors surrounding that place, and I don't know how many of them are true, but it's said to be bewitched. You're not going."

Harry was about to snap back, but Hermione interjected. "Harry, he has a point. The Order is full of wizards and witches more…" she paused. "Uh… this is going to make me sound cruel, but… more _dispensable_ than you. Probably more apt at this sort of thing as well.

He opened his mouth to say something, but Ron, who had remained in solemn, frightened silence until that point, said hoarsely, "Drop it, Harry. I'm not going to lose you too."

Lupin stood and picked up his coat. "I have to go. You had all better get to bed. I'll find McGonagall and tell her what's happened." He looked Harry in the eyes. "Whatever happens, don't leave the castle grounds. Promise me you'll stay on the grounds."

Harry nodded reluctantly.

His hand clasped Harry's shoulder for one brief moment, and then he swept out the door.

There was a long silence, then Ron said quietly, "We should get to bed."

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

They heard nothing about anything for more than a week and a half. Every day, Ron grew more anxious. By the time the next Wednesday rolled around—two days before , he had become utterly silent and brooding. Harry and Hermione tried in vain to assure him that the Order would free his brother, but nothing seemed to work. Professor McGonagall had returned to the school, but she hadn't said anything about it. Finally, after Harry's final class on Wednesday, she summoned him to her office.

Harry entered apprehensively, unsure what to expect. The headmistress sat at the desk, reading a long roll of parchment that had dropped off the edge and rolled halfway across the floor.

"Please be seated, Potter."

He did so. She hesitated for a moment before speaking. "You are aware, of course, that Draco Malfoy professes to know the whereabouts of Bill Weasley."

The 'professes to' part scared him. Professor McGonagall didn't believe Malfoy.

"I don't believe him," she stated matter-of-factly.

Harry remained silent, his mind flying through everything that had happened, like it had done so many times over the last eleven days. And, like every time, he arrived at the same conclusion. Malfoy was telling the truth.

"I think it's a ruse," Professor McGonagall continued. "Voldemort sent him, telling him to act like a madman in order to prove his harmlessness. But he's here to lead us straight into a death trap."

He was already shaking his head. "They tortured and killed his mother before his eyes. You think that was a ploy to get us to believe he's on our side?"

"He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named hardly shuns killing, Potter," Professor McGonagall said sternly. "He would not be averse to killing one of his followers in order to deceive us."

"But you think that Malfoy would still be loyal to him after that?"

"I believe that Voldemort has tricked him into believing it was necessary."

Harry was silent, trying to see the logic in Professor McGonagall's reasoning. He was finding it difficult. "Then what are we going to do about Bill, Professor?"

She didn't answer. It took Harry a moment to realize the significance in her silence. Then it dawned on him.

"You wouldn't," he said hoarsely.

"There is nothing we _can _do, Harry. Either we send a contingent from the Order to Pendragon Castle and have the whole lot kidnapped or killed, or we try to bluff our way into getting him back, which will probably result in his death and the death of any of the negotiators."

"You can't just leave him there," Harry said angrily.

She looked utterly helpless. "We have to."

Rage was boiling up inside of him. "How are you going to tell that to the Weasleys?" he demanded, standing up. "How are you going to tell them that you're going to let their son die without a fight?"

"Harry," she said exasperatedly, "we can't save him. Most of the Order agrees that Malfoy is here to lead us into a trap. We can't sacrifice five or six lives to save Bill's."

"You can't just let him die," Harry spat. Fury raced through his body. "Good day, Professor."

He wrenched the door open and stalked out of the room.

As soon as he was at the bottom of the spiral staircase, he broke into a run. Students looked strangely at him as he passed, but he paid them no heed. He skidded to a halt in front of the portrait of the Fat Lady. "Whiddlebome," he gasped, clutching a stitch in his side.

"You're in a hurry, I take it," said the Fat Lady serenely.

"Yes," he said pointedly.

"I suppose I had better let you in, then," she murmured without moving.

"That would be a good idea," he said through gritted teeth.

"Ah, well, then." She swung forward to admit him to the Gryffindor common room.

Ron and Hermione were sitting in a corner, their homework spread out over a whole table. Hermione was studiously bent over a piece of parchment, but Ron simply sat there, looking miserable.

"Ron, Hermione," he said as he neared them. They looked up. "I need to talk to you, in private," he said urgently.

"What is it?" Hermione asked worriedly.

"I don't want to talk about it here. Come to my office with me."

Five minutes later found him explaining to Ron and Hermione the Order's decision. Hermione looked dumbstruck. "Oh, Ron," she said in a mortified whisper.

Ron glared straight ahead at nothing in particular. "He's not going to die," he whispered. "He's not. We're going to go rescue him."

"Yes, we are," Harry agreed.

"Harry!" Hermione said, aghast. "You told Lupin you'd stay at Hogwarts!"

"Bill's life is more important to me than my promise to Lupin."

"Well-said," Ron concurred. "We're leaving tonight."

"After everyone's in bed," Harry said.

"We can sneak past the aurors. Or maybe Tonks'll let us out."

"Hermione can cover for us."

"What?" Hermione interjected. "Much as I don't think it's a good idea, you're not leaving me here. I'm coming too."

She was so reminiscent of Mrs. Weasley that Ron looked completely cowed. Neither of them even thought to argue. Not that they would have; they were both glad to have her coming along.

"I'm going to see if Malfoy knows just where he's being held," Harry said, stepping out into the corridor. "You can go get ready."

It took only three minutes to make his way down to the dungeons. He unlocked the cell with his wand and stepped inside.

"Malfoy," he said, startling the figure in the corner, "I need you to draw me a map of the castle and mark what room Bill is being kept in."

Malfoy turned slowly to him. "Are you going to try to get in?"

Harry hesitated. "Don't tell McGonagall, but… yes."

"You can't?"

"What do you mean, I can't?" Harry demanded.

"There're barriers all over the place. Someone in your group would have to have one of these."

He wrenched up his left sleeve to reveal a mark that had been branded into his skin, the image of a skull with a snake protruding from its mouth. The Dark Mark.

Harry groaned. "You're kidding."

"Nope. Sorry."

Harry began pacing. He kneaded the scar on his forehead with his knuckles, bit his fingernails, and tore at his hair, but nothing provided an answer.

Malfoy muttered something. Harry turned to him distractedly. "What did you say?"

His pale-blue eyes glittered strangely. "Take me with you. I can show you where he's being held, and I can get you through the barriers."

He hesitated, searching Malfoy's face. But it wasn't a long contemplation. He could choose to refuse or to save Bill's life.

"Alright. I'm going to be so dead for letting you out. We're leaving at midnight. We'll come get you."

"I look forward to it."


	20. Pendragon

Second chapter in two days, to make up for the long time it took for the last one. Not that you'll find out about it until the e-mail function on this site is working again, unless you check it, but it feels good to know that I'm actually getting somewhere. Not fast, but getting there.

Oh, by the way, I'm supposed to be doing homework. That's how dedicated I am to this story. 

Ha, who am I kidding? It takes absolutely no dedication to convince myself to do this instead of homework. I hate homework.

Chapter 20

Pendragon

The dark night seemed to penetrate deeper than it should have; it seeped into Harry's senses and turned into a rising fear that he could not seem to quell. They stood, the four of them, on a hill overlooking Pendragon—small for a castle, weatherworn and crumbling. Hermione had procured a picture out of a large, dusty book of a breach in the stone wall that surrounded the castle's grounds. It had been knocked down by Scottish invaders in the fourteenth century, and it had never been repaired. Now the castle was simply a remote tourist attraction. Harry feared for the fate of any tourist who had visited it recently.

"They keep four guards there, at the most," Malfoy had said as Harry led them to a statue of a humpbacked witch.

"That shouldn't be too hard," he answered in a distracted whisper. "Dissendium!"

The witch's hump opened to reveal a long stone slide.

"Harry, someone's coming," Hermione whispered urgently.

Indeed, footsteps were approaching from a distant hallway. "C'mon," he muttered. Ron put his hands on either side of the opening and heaved himself through, sliding down the chute. Hermione followed quickly, and Malfoy, looking with disgust at the moss on the walls of the tunnels, entered next.

The footsteps were about to round the corner. Harry decided to take his chances meeting whoever it was instead of being seen leaving. He tapped the witches hump and stepped back.

The person who came into view was the last one Harry expected. The new Transfiguration teacher, Professor Abigail Lasley, looked at him with curiosity. "Hi," she said after a moment.

She was in her mid-thirties, with long, brown hair and almond-shaped eyes. She also had an American accent. "Hello," Harry said nervously.

She hesitated. "Pardon me if I offend you, but what on earth are you doing?"

"Er… taking a walk. It's soothing," Harry answered. "What about you?"

"Professor McGonagall asked me to patrol the corridors. Just as a safety precaution."

"Ah."

She nodded towards the witch. "Did you know there's a passageway in there? It leads to the basement of Honeydukes, in Hogsmeade."

"Really?" He tried to look surprised.

"Yeah, watch." She tapped the hump with her wand. "Dissendium!"

Fervently praying that Hermione, Ron, and Malfoy were out of sight at the bottom, Harry looked.

He thought he saw the flash of a robe and heard a hushed whisper, but the next moment he could swear it was only his imagination. Professor Lasley tapped it again leisurely. "Just an interesting little thing… Goodnight, Mr. Potter."

Harry walked about fifty yards in the opposite direction before he was sure Lasley was gone, then he turned around and sprinted back. "Dissendium," he whispered, and slid down the slide.

"Who was that?" Malfoy asked irritably.

"New Transfiguration teacher," Harry said quietly. "She knew about this chute, and she opened it. I hope she didn't see any of you."

"She would have come down and gotten us in trouble," Hermione said, shaking her head. "She's a lot like her predecessor in that way."

"Let's go," Ron said urgently, leading the way.

They walked for fifteen minutes down a long, unlit corridor until they reached the base of a flight of stairs.

"We can Apparate from here," Harry said in a low voice. "We're well off school grounds." He withdrew a folded piece of paper from his pocket. Much to Hermione's great dismay, he had ripped it out of the book she had found. It was a picture of Pendragon Castle.

And so they stood outside the wall that had caved in centuries before, gazing on the castle where Bill Weasley was being held captive.

"We'll split up," Harry whispered. "If you're attacked, make a lot of noise. We don't want them to know that there are more of us, so don't shout our names or anything, but make sure we know you're in trouble. Hermione, you go with Malfoy—er, with Draco, and Ron, you'll come with me. Let's go."

The split up, each pair going along the inside of the wall in opposite directions. Harry, his wand clenched tightly, went slightly behind Ron. They crept, two furtive shadows in the moonless night, towards a crumbled section of the castle wall.

"Malfoy says that leads to the dungeons, and Bill is being kept on the floor above them," Harry whispered, pointing to the gaping hole. They climbed through it.

"Do you think it's odd we haven't seen any guards?" Ron whispered.

Harry shrugged. "If there're only four of them, then no. They're probably all somewhere near Bill."

The stole silently into the pitch-black dungeons. They had agreed to leave their wands unlit for fear of being seen, and Harry couldn't even distinguish his hand two inches from his face. They felt their way blindly towards where Malfoy had said the stairs were.

Suddenly, a bright light flared in front of them, blinding them in quite a different manner. Harry yelled desperately, kicking and fighting, as two people grabbed his wrists and twisted them behind his back. Ropes magically coiled around his arms and torso, and he thudded to the ground painfully. Ron put up more of a fight than he did, but there were more than four men trying to subdue them. He didn't last long.

_Malfoy lied,_ Harry thought with a sickened feeling, groaning._ We've been ambushed, and the guards are far more than he claimed. _He felt blood seeping into his hair from where he had slammed his head on the stone floor.

"She was right," said a hoarse voice from somewhere above him. The glaring light still shone in his eyes, blinding him. "They were coming here."

"But only two of them. She thought there might be more," answered another.

She? Who was she? Who had alerted these men to their coming? Maybe it hadn't been Malfoy after all. Maybe he was as much a victim as they. Who knew we were coming? Harry asked himself miserably. It didn't much matter now.

"Blimey," a third voice joined. "It's 'Arry Potter."

"The Dark Lord will be pleased," said the first voice that had spoken with a malicious cackle.

"The other one looks like the man we've got upstairs."

"You mean me?" said a very familiar voice.

The light swung away from Harry's face and to the top of the stairs, and Harry followed it in amazement. Bill stood there, fiery defiance glaring in his face, bright determination shaping his body. A brilliant flash of lightning behind him would not have looked melodramatic. His wand and the hand holding it were crackling with blue electricity like an static globe lamp, as though the magic that had been pent up inside him wereaching to wreak vengeance upon his captors and could barely be contained. On either side of him stood Hermione and Malfoy, Hermione trembling slightly and Malfoy grinning maliciously, but both with an unbreakable resolve blazing in their eyes.

An electric blue beam shot out of Bill's wand and hit the nearest Death Eater in the chest before they had time to react. Malfoy sprang down the stairs, throwing hexes as anyone who happened to be in his path. There were more Death Eaters than Harry had thought; twenty or so were swarming the dungeons. Hermione anxiously cut a path to Ron and Harry while holding a shield bubble around herself, reflecting all spells aimed at her. She muttered the counter curse, and the ropes fell away from Harry's arms.

"Thanks!" he shouted over the melee. No one seemed to be paying attention to him or Ron anymore, so he stood up, grabbed his wand, which had fallen to the ground, and hit the nearest Death Eater in the back with a stunning spell.

It was four to one, but Bill equaled about ten wizards. All the rage he had pent up for the last two months seemed to be coming out of him now, unfortunately for his opponents. He was almost superhuman.

Harry was battling a tall, menacing Death Eater when a spell hit him in the back. Hermione had fallen to a red jet of light, and Malfoy had been physically thrown against the wall and knocked unconscious. Harry felt his vision fading. He had been stunned. Before he could utter a word, his mind blackened and he lost all sense of consciousness.

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"Ennervate," a voice above him muttered.

Harry's eyes fluttered open. Bill was kneeling over him, his wand pointed at his chest. "You're alive," Harry said hoarsely.

"So are you." He stood and crossed to Hermione, who lay in a heap beside a black-hooded form. Ron was getting up some feet from him. Malfoy was still unconscious. The bright light that they had blinded him with before was simply a Muggle floodlight, powered, he assumed, by magic.

"Hermione was hit with something worse than a stunner," Bill said, lifting her into his arms as though she weighed no more than a doll. "We need to get her to St. Mungo's. Quickly."

"What's wrong with her?" Ron asked fearfully.

"I don't know," Bill said, beginning to ascend the steps. Harry looked around. Twenty-odd Death Eaters lay unconscious—or maybe dead—on the floor around him. Bill had done most of it.

Harry stood and crossed to Malfoy. He was beginning to come around.

"Can you stand?" Harry asked.

"Help me up," he mumbled.

Harry extended a hand and pulled him to his feet. He was a little shaky, but his knees did not betray him. He followed Bill up the stairs.

"We can't Apparate inside the castle," Bill told them. He began to run for the breach in the outside wall. "Hurry!"

They sprinted until they were through it. Bill, Hermione still in his arms, Disapparated with a crack. Harry, Ron, and Malfoy looked at each other. "To St. Mungos?" Ron asked.

"Aye," Harry answered, and they followed Bill.


	21. Death's Grip

Hah! Another chapter! The finishing of this book is beginning to seem like a more possible end. It draws ever nearer… Harry's finally three weeks into the school year!

One thing: forgive me for not describing St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and injuries. It seems kind of redundant, seeing as it's already been described once. Go reread OOTP if you really want a description. 

Chapter 21

Death's Grip

At one o' clock in the morning, the streets of London were far less busy than usual. No one passed the derelict building that housed the Purge and Dowse Ltd. abandoned department store. Which was indeed fortunate for the five human beings that seemed to step out from thin air in front of it.

Bill began talking urgently to the armless mannequin with out-of-date clothes and an ugly face that stood behind the glass. It gave a barely perceptible nod, and he stepped straight through the window.

Harry followed. There was the sensation that he had just stepped through a wall of water, and then he was out and dry on the other side.

Five Healers in lime green robes were striding quickly towards them. Two bore a stretcher between them, and as they reached the group that had just entered, they laid it down on the floor.

"Put her on it," one of them said.

Bill gently laid Hermione's limp form on the stretcher. Without another word, the Healers bore her away.

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It was a long night.

Before anything else happened, Bill turned to his brother and embraced him. "Thank goodness you're safe." He turned to Harry. "You too, Harry." Malfoy, to his own relief, was excluded from the hugs. "Did the Order send you?" he asked quietly, looking from one to the other.

Ron shook his head. "No."

He sighed. "I thought not. Ron, I need you to go back to Hogwarts. Professor McGonagall needs to know about this. Go, tell her everything, and _stay there_ until she or someone else from the Order is there to come with you."

Ron looked as though he were about to argue, but Bill held up a hand. "You won't do any good by staying here. Please go."

He inhaled deeply, and then nodded. Without another word, he stepped back out into the street and Disapparated.

The assistant Healer who came to them a few minutes later nearly screamed when Bill turned towards her. The scars on his face were livid, and his haggard appearance—his clothes were tattered and dirty, his long hair matted—only made it worse. She kept her composure, however, and led them to a waiting room on the fourth floor. Very few people other than the Healers were there at this time of night, and the waiting room was empty but for them. As soon as they were alone, Bill sat down and turned to Harry. "You have a lot to tell me, Harry," he said softly.

Harry drew a deep breath and launched into the tale. While he talked, Malfoy examined his fingernails, glancing up briefly whenever his name was mentioned. Harry felt a wave of exhaustion hit him a few minutes after he sat down. When he finished, he closed his eyes wearily. "It's been a long two weeks, Bill."

He smiled grimly. "I know the feeling."

They sat in silence for a long time. Harry had nearly dozed off when a Healer entered.

"I have bad news," she said gently.

Harry felt the color drain out of his face. Bill looked up sharply, and even Malfoy paid attention.

"We don't know what she was hit with. She's alive, but barely, and not for very much longer if we can't find a counter-curse."

Harry moaned.

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It was early in the morning when Harry awoke. He had sprawled out on the couch and fallen asleep. When he opened his eyes, Bill was pacing back and forth in front of a window, which let in the brilliant light of a beautiful autumn dawn.

"How's Hermione?" Harry asked, sitting up wearily.

"Worse," was his only reply.

It had only been about two and a half hours since Ron left. Harry knew they couldn't reasonably expect anything from the Order for at east another few hours. However, when the door opened and he looked up, expecting to see a Healer, half a dozen members of the Order poured in.

Mr. and Mrs. Wealsey were the first to enter, followed immediately by Professor McGonagall. Lupin came in next, and after him were Ron and Tonks.

Everyone started talking at once. Mrs. Weasley exclaimed, "Oh, Bill, thank goodness!" and Professor McGonagall and Ron both asked how Hermione was. Lupin began asking Harry for details and intermittently scolding him for his rash actions, and Tonks and Mr. Weasley tried to get Bill's story out of him. Chaos reigned until a Healer poked his head in and requested that they be quiet; they were disturbing the patients. Everyone quieted down.

Mr. Weasley embraced his son, utter relief written all over his face. However, when Lupin patted his back and said, "We're all glad you're safe," Bill grimaced as though in pain.

"What is it?" Mr. Weasley asked sharply.

"It's… it's nothing," Bill said, trying to brush it off. "Just a little scratch."

"Bill, you've always been a terrible liar, dear," Mrs. Weasley said worriedly. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing to get concerned about."

But Mrs. Weasley had gently lifted the back of his shirt and jacket and gasped. "Oh, Bill, what did they do to you?"

Everyone, Harry included, moved collectively to see what it was. Bill managed to slap his mother's hand away, but not before everyone saw his back.

It was crisscrossed with long cuts that had scabbed over, but still cracked and bled in places. His shirt was bloodstained, and only his thick jacket had hidden it before.

"They whipped him," Mrs. Weasley said in a mortified whisper.

"No," Bill said irritably, yanking his shirt back down. "It was a spell."

Harry gasped. He knew that spell. He also knew who its inventor was.

"Who did it?" Harry asked through gritted teeth. Everyone turned to look at him. Bill, not meeting his eyes, shrugged.

"Was it Snape?" he asked quietly. Bill didn't answer.

"It was Snape, wasn't it." It wasn't a question. "Sectumsempra."

Bill looked at him and slowly nodded. "Don't let it get to you, though, Harry," he said softly. "I know you hate him, but don't let it lead you to do something rash. It's not worth getting yourself killed over. Just a few more scars."

Harry was silent, glaring at a spot just above Malfoy's left knee. Yes, he hated Snape. He wanted to snap his neck, cut out his heart, and make him eat his own entrails. He _hated_ Snape.

No one seemed to have noticed that Malfoy—a Death Eater, one who had attacked Hogwarts, no less—was walking around unchecked. He didn't seem to mind, either. He was content to sit away from all the attention and examine his fingernails.

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Harry grew more and more anxious with each passing day. Despite the Healers' best attempts, Hermione would not wake. She was unmoving, an ashen color, and sometimes Harry couldn't help but put her hand above her mouth to feel her breathe, to make sure she wasn't dead.

Ron sat in brooding silence. At first, Bill's release had helped to keep his spirits up, but slowly, his joy began to fade to be replaced by fear and anguish. He sat by her bed, head in his hands, gazing at her with a mixture of pain and hope on his face. Sometimes he paced, sometimes he sat, sometimes he simply stood looking lost, but from sunrise to sunset he never left the room. Someone came every night to tear them away from her bedside and take them back to Grimauld Place, where they would eat a sullen dinner and spend the night, only to rise and return to St. Mungos as early as they could.

Still, Hermione did not wake.

It became an object of minor publicity. It was a spell that had never been seen, and no one could find a cure. After the headline news—which got more and more depressing every day—a few pages in, they would find an occasional article in the Prophet about the "young woman who was hit by a servant of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named by an unknown spell with frightening effects." It scared the Healers; though they said nothing of it, it shone in their eyes. They knew that, if the Death-Eaters were to use the spell in force, there would be nothing they could do about it.

Harry asked Malfoy again and again whether he knew anything about it. By the seventh time, Malfoy practically shouted, "No, Potter, I can't bring her back! And if I knew what the spell was, I'd hex you with it, too, to stop you asking me!"

He tracked down a portrait of Dumbledore and asked him if he knew anything about it. He didn't. He asked all the other portraits. None could place the curse, or suggest a cure for it.

"I'll bet Snape made it up," Harry said quietly to Ron one day. "Even if he didn't cast it. He was always inventing spells."

"What if she never wakes up?"

Harry shook his head. "Don't say that."

A had week passed when Professor McGonagall arrived at Grimauld Place while Ron and Harry were eating their dinner in somber silence. She pulled Harry aside.

"Potter," she began after a deep breath, "I know you don't want to do what I'm about to ask of you, but it's necessary. You have a duty to fulfill at Hogwarts. Your students need their Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher back."

Harry glared at her, unwilling to agree with her. "If you had let the Order rescue Bill, we wouldn't have had to do it, and this wouldn't have happened."

"Potter," she said sharply. "It is too late to change the past, so don't regret it. I made a mistake, and I have learned from it. I've moved on. You need to, too."

He was too angry to see the sense in her words. The grief, the pain, the anguish that he had suppressed for a week were welling up inside of him, flowing through his veins, forcing themselves into his throat. He turned away. "You don't know what it's like," he said hoarsely, "not knowing if your best friend is going to live or die. She's barely hanging on to life, Professor. I can't leave her."

"Think about it," she said softly. "She wouldn't want you to give up your commitments to sit by her side, especially when the latter does nothing for her. She would want your life to go on."

He was silent.

"Harry, listen to me. There is nothing you can do for her here. Go back to Hogwarts. Carry on with what she would want you to. Training students to fight is just as important as her life, Harry. You know that."

His throat constricted and tears burned behind his eyes. "I'll come back," he whispered, "but I'm going to find a cure."

"Harry, you're not a Healer. You don't know the first thing about the nature of spells and how to counteract them."

"I don't," he hissed. "But Snape does."


	22. The Inner Sanctum

Finals are OVER!!! I got a D+ in Chemistry, but I don't have to worry about it because I can't change it! There's nothing I can do about it, so it's no use worrying! Hakuna matata, you know? And it only brought my grade down four percent. I've still got a B.

So this chapter is in celebration of the end of finals, and also because I'm excited to write this one. Hermione's life hanging by a thread… what is going to happen? Will she live? Will she die? Okay, yeah, I'm melodramatic. I know.

Chapter 22

The Inner Sanctum

Monday morning was a nightmare for Harry. He was trying to teach the first year Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs to conjure a protective shield around themselves, but he couldn't focus. His mind kept drifting back to an image of Hermione's lifeless form, and from there to a picture of Severus Snape, and from there to the idea of cutting him in half and spilling his guts in Antarctica. Snape would have a lot to answer for when he found him.

And of course, his students wanted to know where he had been for the last week. He told them he had been ill. This wasn't enough; they wanted to know what it was and why Madame Pomfrey couldn't cure it. Harry found himself inventing things, digging himself deeper and deeper into a lie, which eventually landed with his telling them that he had been accidentally hexed by a sixth year while they were practicing jinxes, and he had ended up in the hospital wing with green tentacles growing out of his nose. In order to cure it, Madame Pomfrey had needed the blood of a grindylow, and it had taken her a week to track one down in the lake, which she had accomplished by turning herself into a shark and swimming around for a few hours.

Apparently, at least someone saw holes in his story. Arionna Pusey hung back after class.

"Professor?" she said slightly timidly.

"What?" he asked distractedly, sorting through the homework he had just collected and pulling out the one that didn't have a name on it. He labeled it Kyle Lindsay. Kyle always forgot to put his name on his work.

"What did Madame Pomfrey say your… er, disease was called?"

"Seversnapeatitis," he answered dryly as he sat down, putting his elbows on his desk and putting his head in his hands. "Why?"

"Because there isn't such a disease as sevesnapeatitsis," she answered.

"Not until last week, there wasn't. The kid who jinxed me seems to have unintentionally invented a new hex, one that makes blue tentacles grow out of your nose. Madame Pomfrey decided to call it seversnapeatitis."

"You said they were green tentacles."

"One was. The other was blue."

She looked at him with her eyebrows raised. "Really?"

She looked so much like Hermione that he wanted to cry. Instead, he sighed. "Do you want something, Arionna?"

"Only the truth," she said quietly. "No one tells us anything. We know stuff's going on, but we don't know what, and it's a horrible feeling. You all lie to us because you think we're too young to know or understand or keep a secret, but it's worse when you don't tell us, because then we invent stuff to fill the gaps. Stuff that's usually worse than what actually happened."

Harry looked up. He knew how that felt, knew how it was to be kept in the dark, not being told anything, not understanding. And it was true; his mind made up worse scenarios when left to wander.

"Arionna," he said after a big breath, "what I have been doing over the last week is a secret, not because I think you're too naïve or untrustworthy, but because you don't need to know. You don't need to burden yourself with what is happening that is beyond your control."

"But how far does that really extend? Are we only hearing about the least consequential of You-Know-Who's attacks? Are we being sheltered? Because whether it's beyond our control or not, it concerns us. We will be affected by it just as much as the adults will, and we can understand it, too."

Harry smiled slightly, reminded very strongly of another young woman with the same sort of vocabulary. One who might never be able to use it again. "You are wise beyond your years, Arionna Pusey," he said softly.

"Thank you very much, but that doesn't tell me what's going on."

"Not to be dissuaded, are you?"

"No."

He drew a deep breath. "Someday, Arionna, you will know. I can't tell you now, but I can guarantee, if you decide to stick your nose in it, nothing will remain hidden from you for long. You're too smart for that."

She looked disappointed, but started to turn away, defeated.

"Arionna," he said. She looked back. "Good luck," he whispered.

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Saturday morning dawned chilly and bright. After lying awake for hours the previous night, Harry had made a decision.

He left the castle before breakfast and began walking around the grounds. He could only hope that she was there; she was the only person to whom he thought he could turn for the help he needed.

His efforts were rewarded about an hour later. Walking up the gate to relieve the auror who stood guard there was Tonks, pink hair very conspicuously poking out of the hood of her cloak. She grinned slightly as she saw him. "Wotcher, Harry!"

"Hello, Tonks."

When he continued to stare at her, she looked at him strangely. "Something wrong?" she asked concernedly.

"Sort of. Can I talk to you?"

She shrugged. "If you don't mind hanging out here in this weather, you can. It's freezing."

"I'm fine."

"Alright," she said as she and the other auror exchanged a nod and he left, "let me guess. Is this about Hermione?"

"Indirectly, yes."

She sighed, leaning against the gatepost. "I don't know what to tell you, Harry. She won't wake up."

"I know that," he scowled. "That's not what I want to talk about."

"Okay, talk, then."

Harry drew a deep breath. "I have a big favor to ask of you."

She looked at him suspiciously.

"I need to learn to defend myself. Past the school level. I need to know the harder spells, the ones that aurors learn, the ones that actually have more of an impact than the Jelly-Legs jinx or the Bat-Bogey hex. I need to know them because I can't defend myself against Voldemort and the Death Eaters with Expelliarmus."

"You did once," she said quietly.

"Once," he said. "My luck might not hold next time."

She was silent a moment. "You want me to teach you."

"Yes."

She looked at him long and hard. "You've grown up a lot since I met you, Harry," she said softly.

"Through no choice of my own."

She smiled almost bitterly. "Yes… the world tends to make us do that." She hesitated, gazing at the brilliant morning sun. "I'll teach you, Harry. Whatever you want me to, I'll teach you, but I'm probably not the best-qualified person to teach you."

"No one else has the time. Everyone I can think of is either a Death Eater or busy with keeping the world from careening into chaos."

"A fine goal, to be sure," she said, smiling. "When are you free?"

"I teach from nine to one and then from three to five. Friday nights I give extra classes."

"For the overachievers?"

"For the ones who want survive an attack."

"I see. I'm off by six every night. I can do it for a couple hours then and on Saturdays before about seven in the evening."

"That's a lot of hours."

"There's a lot to teach you."

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Slowly, slowly, five weeks inched by. Hermione got no worse, but nor did she get better. Ron, who had decided to stay at Grimauld Place, used floo powder to appear in his office fireplace every night at exactly five-thirty, and they talked, exchanging news, grimly speculating, and Harry giving Ron his homework. Then Tonks would come in and teach him.

He learned faster than he ever had in his life, driven by a desperate need to see Hermione awake, smiling, laughing, living, as she once had. Every night, they retreated to his empty classroom, and she taught him.

"This is a training circle, a master's wheel," she had told him on his first lesson, drawing a circle, fifteen feet in radius, with her wand on the floor. She marked it with a shimmering orange something that shot out of the tip of her wand. She drew another one inside it—this one with a radius of ten feet—one inside that with a radius of five, and finally, a small one with a radius of three feet. "While I'm here, this circle will be your world, your whole life. While I am teaching you, there is nothing outside of it."

"Hermione—"

"There is nothing," she said firmly. "Hermione does not exist until I say she does. As your skill improves, you will progress to the smaller circles. With each new ring, your world contracts, bringing you closer to your goal. This is how they do it in auror training. Trust me, Harry."

"What is the point of this circle, then?"

"It makes you focus. If nothing exists outside of it, you will be concentrating on what you are supposed to be learning. You will find you're more successful. You'll be able to concentrate more. Your spells will have more power. You'll remember things better."

They began at the beginning. She taught him tactics with his wand, such as how to reflect a spell off something in the room so that it would hit his opponent from an unexpected angle. They worked on silent spells, wand movements, and enunciation. She made him do spells with his left hand, she gave him her wand and told him to try doing two spells at once, and she drilled him mercilessly for every fact of magic he had ever learned.

On Monday of the second week, they sat down in the middle of the circle facing each other. Tonks drew a deep breath. "I'm going to try to teach you something, Harry, that most people never learn. It has to do with your Inner Sanctum."

"My what?'

Tonks looked surprised. "You've never heard of your Inner Sanctum?"

He shook his head. "What is it?"

She took a long breath. "I think in order to describe it, you have to know what magic is."

"I'm listening."

"That's the thing; no one really knows. Some say it's willpower, some say it's more tangible, like a hormone or something. So no one really knows how to understand the Inner Sanctum. Basically, it's where your magic resides. It's not a physical place, like your heart or mind, but if you search for it within yourself, you can find it. It's a complicated thing."

"I can tell."

"You have to feel where your magic comes from, find that place, and be able to control it. And that's what I'm going to try to teach you."

"Why do I need to learn it, but most people don't?"

"For starters, you need to be able to defend yourself properly. Most people don't have You-Know-Who out for their blood. Very few people ever learn the kind of defense skills you get as an auror. You also have to know how to control your magic because as a member of the Order, you're going to be doing things that most people will never do. If your magic gets out of hand, the results could be disastrous."

"So finding this… Inner Sanctum will help me control my magic?"

"Once you're so familiar with it that you can find it without even thinking, nothing will be beyond your reach."

"How do you find it?"

"That," she said, smiling, "is what I'm going to teach you. Stand up."

He did so. She stepped out of the ring. "I want you to cast _lumos_. But don't do it unthinkingly. Pay attention to what you're doing. Try to feel what happens when you prepare to cast a spell, as you cast it, and then the aftereffects. Go ahead."

Very confident, Harry squared his feet, held his wand out in front of him, and said, "Lumos!"

He concentrated on himself and watched the light grow at the end of his wand, but he felt nothing. He shook his head. "Nothing felt different."

"Of course nothing felt different. You're doing the exact same thing you've been doing since you started casting spells. What you're doing is so much a part of yourself that you do it subconsciously, and you can't even trace it with your conscious mind. That's why you don't notice it; it's like noticing your heart beating. It doesn't even occur to you that it's happening because it's so ingrained in you. Though I daresay this is harder than focusing on your heart beating. Try it again."

He tried it again, and still he felt nothing. "What am I supposed to feel?"

"The magic welling up inside of you, preparing to be unleashed. When it's let go, a rushing sensation. And when it's over, you should feel… like it's going down again, settling. It's tough, but you'll get it eventually."

He tried it again. He tried it again. He tried it again. He didn't seem to be getting anywhere.

"Try it again," she said.

On the second night of fruitlessly casting _lumos_ over and over again, Harry, through all his frustration, finally felt something. When the spell left his wand tip, he felt the faintest rush inside him, as though his heart were pumping blood at twice its normal rate. "_Nox_," he whispered, and he felt it again, barely perceptible, this time going backwards. "Tonks, I think I feel something."

She made him do it again, and again, and again with more potent spells, until he felt it every time, and he was more sensitive to it so it felt stronger than it had at first. It was an exhilarating sensation, feeling his magic rush through his veins. Finally, after he had conjured his Patronus and felt the magic from it, Tonks grinned. "Now you get to try to follow it. Follow where it comes from, follow it when it recedes."

The first time he tried, he had no idea how get beyond the simple rush of magic. He tried it again, and again, and again.

He didn't get it until Thursday night. He was ready to scream with frustration. Instead, he threw a Stinging Hex at the wall. It didn't calm him down, but as he felt the magic receding, he noticed something. It all seemed to be pooling up. Excitedly, he followed it to where it was going. Not mentally, not emotionally… but he felt it. It was gathering, not in a tangible place, but now he could find it, sense it all over his body. And he found, to his astonishment, he could make it go places. He could send it one way or another, make it form this spell or that. He had found it.

"I found it," he gasped, dropping his wand and feeling his torso. It felt as though it were somewhere in his abdomen, but he couldn't feel it with his hands. "I've got it."

But then it faded, and he lost it again. "It's gone," he whispered, turning around and looking over his shoulder as though it may have snuck behind him.

"That's okay," Tonks said encouragingly, beaming at him. "It's hard at first to retain it. Go ahead and try it again."

He did, and he lost it when he found it again, but not as quickly. He was able to hold onto it longer the third time, and even longer the fourth.

By Saturday, he could hold onto his Inner Sanctum as long as he wanted to after he cast a spell. By the next Monday, he could find it without even having to use magic.

As soon as he found he could do it without casting a spell, he was practicing every second. It took him a while at first, but he managed it with more and more ease as time went on. Any spare moment during his classes, during dinner, sandwiched between Neville and Dean, as he lay in bed trying to sleep, he conjured it. And eventually, it was there at his whim. He hardly had to think to find it, and he could keep it with him as long as he wanted.

On Wednesday, he came into his office with a grin on his face. Tonks asked why he was so happy, and he told her: he had managed to keep it there all day, even when his concentration was required elsewhere. Tonks looked amazed. "I'm impressed, Harry, honestly," she said slowly. "What you've accomplished in a week and a half often takes six weeks or more to do. It took me a little more than a month."

"I've got a lot riding on this, that's all."

"Don't demean yourself, Harry," she said smiling slightly. "You're incredibly talented. You've got a knack for this sort of thing."

"I've still got a lot riding on it."

She looked at him strangely. "I still can't see where learning to defend yourself will make Hermione wake up."

He drew a deep breath. "I know of someone who probably has the counter-curse. And it'll take a lot to get it out of him."

"Snape?" she asked quietly.

He nodded.

"Don't go getting yourself killed, Harry," she said.

"I assure you that if I do, it will be through no conscious choice of my own," he answered, smiling.

"Well… shall we start, then?"

They started with _Lumen Confundus_, a spell that conjured hundreds of dazzling lights that the victim could see, but the conjurer couldn't. They were supposed to bedazzle his opponent. "Now," Tonks said as she redrew the circle, which she erased after each of their lessons, "this powerful of a spell is one where you have to consciously call on your magic so that you can get enough force behind it. Find your Inner Sanctum and command the magic to go through your wand.

Harry took his place in the center of the circle, squared his feet, and shouted, "Lumen confundus!"

At the same time, he found his magic and forced it out of himself, and it exploded through his wand. It felt wonderful—he could control how powerful he wanted it to be, how long it took to take effect, how much magic he put into it. He couldn't see any visible effects, but then, he wasn't supposed to, and Tonks was shielding her eyes and squinting. He assumed it had worked.

Over the next two and a half weeks, she taught him everything she could. He learned how to conjure ropes and bind someone, he learned the Blasting Curse, which knocked an opponent off his feet, the Disillusionment Charm to make something practically invisible, spells that confounded his opponent, nearly a hundred different spells that would come in useful during a duel. She taught him everything she could think of. Finally, at the end of a grueling five weeks, she sank back against the wall. "There's only more thing I can teach you, Harry."

When she didn't continue, he asked quietly, "And what is that?"

She snapped her fingers and a ball of blue light appeared in her hand. "Wandless magic," she said, grinning. "Stand in the center circle."

He did so, pocketing his wand. "No," she said, shaking her head. "You're not ready to do it without the wand yet. Now, I want you to send Expelliarmus at the wall. You're going to feel your magic, and when you feel it, concentrate on just what it is that the wand is doing to it."

Harry did so. At first, he couldn't tell what the wand's function was in casting a spell, but after a few more tries, he realized what it was. "It focuses the magic," he said softly. "It focuses it and channels it and concentrates it."

"Exactly," she said smugly. "If you try to cast a spell without a wand, but not knowing how to focus it, you'll emit it from everywhere, but so weakly that the effect will hardly be felt. However, if you can make your hand—or whatever part of your body you want to emit the magic from, for that matter—if you can make your hand channel the magic from you Inner Sanctum and focus it as a spell, you don't need a wand.

"Now, here's how you do it. It requires multitasking, though it gets a lot easier once you get the hang of it. You have to focus on your hand—or your toes or your bellybutton, wherever you want it to come from, the finger for our purposes—and concentrate on sending the magic that way. You have to take over the wand's job. Try it."

He did, and, as he expected, he failed. But he tried again and again and again, and finally, the next night, he made his hand glow with the _lumos _spell.

"I'm doing it!" he shouted, ecstatic. "Look! I'm doing it!" As soon as he turned his attention to Tonks, the light faded. His face fell. "I was."

"I know, I saw. It'll take practice, but keep working on it. Good job."

Harry tried it again, and this time he focused on holding it. After five minutes of staring intently at his hand, Tonks whispered, "Now think about something else."

Harry moved his mind slowly over the other spells he had learned. It moved to Ron and then Hermione and then to Snape. He looked down and found, to his astonishment, that his hand was still emitting a yellow glow. He gazed at it in wonder. "If people can do this, then why do we still have wands?"

"Well, for starters, you have to learn the basics with a wand. A lot of people can't do this, either. They have to have a wand. And plus, even if you can focus mostly on something else at the same time, at least a little concentration is required to hold the spell. Oftentimes you need all the brainpower you can get behind whatever you're trying to do, and if you've got a wand, you have that much more. Does that make sense?"

He nodded, entranced. "Nox," he whispered, and his hand went out.

When he came the next day, Tonks deliberately stood at one side of the largest circle. "Face me," she ordered. "We're going to duel."

Harry did as he was told, immediately pulling a shield around himself. She shook her head. "We won't be using anything dangerous," she told him. "And nothing that's safe will penetrate a shield. So we're not using shields, either."

Harry nodded and withdrew his wand. Tonks raised her own. "Use everything you've ever learned, Harry," she said quietly. "Silent spells, precise wand movements and pronunciation, duel tactics, everything."

He nodded.

A jet of red light sprung out of the end of her wand. Harry dodged it and countered with a Stunning Spell, which she blocked. He sent a Jelly-legs jinx, quickly followed by a Full-body-bind Curse, which he sent at the window so it would rebound and hit her in the back. She skillfully avoided both, and, while his attention was on aiming the spell so it would reflect right, she set a Disarming Charm at him. His wand jumped out of his hand.

He had practiced for hours after their lesson the previous night, summoning things to himself without a wand, banishing them again, starting a fire in the grate of his office and then extinguishing it once more. He had even tried to do two at once; he had lit the fire and summoned a book to himself. Though he had set the rug on fire instead of the logs in the fireplace, and despite that the book had hit him on the head instead of landing neatly in his hands, he had managed it. He could use wandless magic.

He sent a weak stinging hex at her, followed quickly by three Disarming Charms. One of them hit her, and her wand was gone, too. She grinned with a smile that sort of scared Harry. Without warning, the ground rolled beneath his feet: an Earthquake Spell that threw the opponent off balance. The incantation was Contremisco. He hadn't been ready for it, and he fell, banging his head on the stone.

He blinked to rid his eyes of the dizzying pain and sat up again, only to find Tonks' wand at his throat. "Checkmate," she said brightly.

They dueled once a day after that. Harry held out longer and longer, until finally, with a quick combination of a Stunning Spell, a Lumen _Confundus_, and a Disarming Charm, he beat her.

Pointing his wand at her chest, he stood over her, breathing hard and flushed with the ecstasy of victory. She smiled at him as he offered her his hand. "Harry," she said hoarsely, grinning at him, "I think you're done. I can't teach you anything more."

Harry stepped back, still breathing hard. All the efforts of five long weeks were crashing down on him, and he had just defeated an auror in a duel. Something within him welled up and screamed victoriously, and a slow grin began spreading over his face. He straightened up and looked at Tonks.

"You're ready," she said softly. "You can defend yourself." She placed her fist over her heart. "I condensed two years of auror training into a five-week crash course, and you've done beautifully with it. Congratulations, Harry. You have my utmost respect."

"Thanks, Tonks."

"You're ready, Harry. The world is yours; you have only to reach out and grasp it."

A/N: Wow, I really didn't mean for it to be that long. There just kept not being a good place to end it. Thanks for sticking with it this long, though… funny, I think, that this chapter comprised as much time as the rest of them have put together. Five whole weeks. We're now at the beginning of November. Only seven months left to go. Everyone cheer for Jarlaxle.


	23. The Pyramids of Furmat

DEATHLY HALLOWS IS COMING OUT ON JULY 21!!!!!!!! I'M SO EXCITED! I'M PREORDERING IT ON AMAZON!!!! YAY FOR JK ROWLING!!!!

Alright, now that my adrenaline level has receded a bit: guess what? Two weeks ago, I sat down and actually wrote out the whole plot for the rest of this novel. I'd had it mostly planned out before, but with some ambiguities, and sometimes when I'd come up with a really good idea I'd forget about it 'cause I didn't write it down. So finally, I know where I'm going instead of wandering aimlessly back and forth and never getting anywhere, I have structure in what I'm writing rather than letting it all flop about like a useless pile of Jello, and the end is in sight! So now that I actually know what's supposed to happen next, I'm going to try to put up one or two chapters a week. That's not a promise, mind you, but I'll try… 

Anyway, this one's for Jocelyn because I was reading Pride and Prejudice last night, and Jocelyn is exactly like Jane, and it made me happy. So here it is… chapter 23!

"Ron," Harry said as his best friend's head appeared in the fire the next evening, "I need to talk to Malfoy."

Ron nodded. "I knew that was coming. I take it you've finished your training, then?"

"Yes. I have to know where Snape is."

"Foul git," Ron said cheerily, his head disappearing. "He'll be right there!" His voice sounded muffled and distant, echoing around the fireplace. Harry sat on the ground and put his chin in his hand.

No one had really known what to do with Malfoy after he had gone with Harry, Ron, and Hermione to rescue Bill. They had taken him to Grimauld Place, and there he had remained for five long weeks. They couldn't turn him loose for fear he'd get himself killed or go back to the Death Eaters, but every moment he stayed at the Headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix, he learned more about what they were doing. Slowly, he had been mostly forgotten.

With a whoosh and a flash of emerald light, Malfoy stepped into the room, brushing ashes off his robes. "What?" he asked dryly.

"You didn't have to come all the way over here," Harry said irritably, standing up. " I only have to talk to you, not dance with you."

"I hate kneeling in front of the fire," he said unconcernedly, leaning against the mantel. "It's painful, and it'll ruin your robes very fast. What do you want?"

"I need information."

"I might have it."

"Will you divulge it?"

He shrugged. "Maybe."

"I need to know where Snape is."

"Send him an owl and ask him to tell you. I'm sure he'll comply."

Harry scowled. "I don't want to listen to your sarcasm, Malfoy. Please, just tell me. I have to know where he is."

"Why?"

"He knows the counter curse to whatever they got Hermione with."

"How're you so sure?"

"I'm sure," Harry said firmly, hoping it was true.

"How are you going to make him tell you?"

"I can make him."

Malfoy smiled humorlessly. "Still cocky, I see." He turned slowly and gazed into the fire. "Look, Potter, Severus Snape is a very powerful wizard. He'll kill you."

"I'm more prepared than you think."

"So?" Malfoy asked softly. "You are nowhere near Snape's level."

"Maybe I am."

"You cannot be, Potter, because Snape has an advantage that you, in your years of good upbringing, have been deprived."

"And what is that?"

Malfoy looked up. The flickering fire cast eerie shadows over his pale face. "Dark magic."

Harry felt a convulsive shudder. He turned away from Malfoy and drew a deep breath. "Then what would you suggest?" he asked harshly. "Snape is the only way I can think of to bring her back, and I can't just sit here and do nothing when there is any hope of saving her. What do you want me to do?"

"Let me come."

"You came last time."

"You'll need me."

"No, I won't."

"Someday, Potter, your arrogance will get you into a fix that you won't be able to get out of. Perhaps it'll be this one. I tell you, Snape will kill you the first moment he sees you."

"Then he'll kill you in the second moment."

"No, because the moment in which he kills you will leave an opening for me to kill him. He will be far more cautious against two wizards than against one. But," Malfoy said, his smile broadening, "we have the advantage."

"What advantage?"

"We're seventeen. We're teenagers. Snape's flaw, if he has one, is a tendency to underestimate his enemies. We are more powerful than he knows."

"But he does know us," Harry pointed out bitterly. "He taught us for six years, watched us as our teacher. He knows our strengths and our weaknesses."

"No," Malfoy said softly, "he thinks he does. He knows what used to be our strengths and weaknesses. But, unless I am very much mistaken, Potter, we have both grown far beyond what he could possibly imagine."

"How do you know?" Harry demanded.

Malfoy laughed disdainfully. "What you asked that woman—Tonks—to do is not a secret around the headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix."

"Oh," Harry said. It hadn't occurred to him that anyone but he and Ron knew.

"Yes, Potter, you are far more advanced in magic than Severus Snape could possibly fathom. Not as far as he, no, but much farther than he expects from you. And I—I was guarded from him last year. I learned more, grew more than he knew. I didn't want him to take the fame that I was going to get, killing your precious Dumbledore, so I stayed far away from him. He has no idea how far into the Dark Arts I got."

Harry looked at him slowly, long and hard. "You're right," he said softly. "We're not so different, are we?"

Slowly, Malfoy shook his head.

"If I let you come," Harry whispered, "will you tell me?"

"I will."

"And you swear to tell the truth?"

"Why would I lie?"

"Do you swear?"

"I swear." He stuck out his hand.

Harry took it. "Where is he?"

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO

"You want me to ride that thing?"

"How else do you propose we get there?" Harry asked irritably, watching as three beasts walked forward out of the trees. They looked like sickly horses with black, leathery skin, enormous wings, and milky eyes. They were fighting over a strip of drying meat that Harry had stolen from behind Hagrid's cabin. "If you don't want to ride it, you don't have to come," Harry reminded him.

After a long debate over how they were to get to their destination, Harry had thought of the thestrals. Apparition wouldn't work because they had never seen the place. Brooms were useless, too—they didn't know where it was. But the thestrals would get them there quickly, and wouldn't get lost on the way.

"Where do you hold on?" Malfoy asked, grimacing. "They're disgusting, filthy-looking things…"

The nearest one looked up at him with a scary glint in its eye. Malfoy backed away hurriedly. He'd had a very painful experience with an animal that didn't like to be insulted.

Harry pulled himself up onto a big one that had finished chewing its strip of meat, and Malfoy followed suit, looking very disgruntled.

Harry, though he didn't want to admit it, was not exactly happy being in the Forbidden Forest at nearly ten o' clock at night. It was pitch black, and Harry knew that the things he had encountered in previous excursions into this place—namely, murderous centaurs, enormous spiders, and a runty giant named Grawp—were only a fraction of the horrors that lay among these trees. The sooner they were off, the better.

"Erm…" Harry said to his, "could you take us to the Pyramids of Furmat, please?"

With a sickening lurch, the thestral took off, quickly clearing the tops of the trees and soaring into the night sky. Harry immediately wished he had worn a thicker cloak—he was freezing in the November wind. He squinted against the whipping wind.

Malfoy had shrugged when Harry had asked _why_ Snape was at the Pyramids of Furmat, deep in the heart of Egypt. "There's something there that the Dark Lord wants guarded, and since Snape had to blow his cover at the end of last year, that's about his most useful station."

"What sort of thing?"

Malfoy's eyes glinted. "You know the thing that they wanted in return for Weasley?"

"A map?" Harry asked, intrigued.

"I think it's there. They've been making excursions into the biggest pyramid for months now, and when they come out—if they do come out—they're empty-handed. When they kidnapped Weasley, I think they must have decided that perhaps the Order of the Phoenix had gotten there first. Though I doubt they believe that's still the case."

"What is this map? What makes it so important?"

Malfoy shrugged. "How are we going to get there?"

Which was why they were currently riding two thestrals south at an alarming speed. Harry couldn't watch because of the force of the wind, but he knew that England and France and the Mediterranean were passing below him.

It took hours. Harry gradually felt the November air growing warmer, and he knew they were nearer to Egypt. Throughout the journey, he constantly muttered a spell that kept hot air hovering around his fingers, nose, and ears to avoid frostbite from the cold. He felt bad for Malfoy, who, he was sure, couldn't do the wandless magic that he himself had mastered only a week previously. He was too stiff to turn around and make sure Malfoy was behind him.

And then they descended. Harry felt it grow distinctly warmer as they neared the ground. Nearby stood several sprawling webs of lights, but they landed in a large, dark expanse. Harry stiffly got off his thestral as Malfoy's landed beside him.

Malfoy himself looked frozen, but apparently not enough so to keep him from cursing the thestral and the ride up and down and muttering ineffective curses. He practically tumbled off, straightening himself angrily and stomping over to Harry. "We are not," he said through gritted teeth, "riding those _things_ back. We can Apparate to Hogsmeade."

"Shh," Harry hissed. "We don't know if there are people around here." He didn't know how to communicate to the thestrals that they were no longer needed and could go back to Hogwarts, but they seemed disinclined to stay anyway; without a sound, they took off and disappeared into the black night sky.

"Which one's the biggest?" Harry whispered as he turned to Malfoy.

Malfoy shot him a scathing glance. "How should I know? You can tell as well as I which is the biggest."

There were seven impressively enormous structures spread out before them, forming the tips of a six-pointed star, with one in the very center, which was outlined by large hills and rows of crumbling statues. Harry had seen a picture of them from above once, in a History of Magic textbook, and in it he could see the star in the hills. Now, on the ground, he could make out no more pattern than natural rolling hills would have formed.

He tried to recall that History of Magic lesson. Despite the drab, monotone voice of Professor Binns, which was usually completely incapable of staying in Harry's head—going in one ear and out the other—he seemed to remember. "The middle's the biggest," he said slowly. It made sense.

"Okay," Malfoy said. "Any great ideas?"

"We go in and bash Snape's skull."

"I meant ideas that wouldn't get us killed."

Harry thought for a moment. "I have an idea," he said softly, "but it's going to take some work."

A/N: Does this chapter seem at all realistic? It seems to me it's a more romantic (not that romanticism is bad, but this is going too far) idea of things, hopping on thestrals and flying down to Egypt. Not… real. Like Huck and Jim floating down the raft on the Mississippi in Adventures of Huckleberry Finn—it's not reality. I try not to do that, but sometimes I just don't know how to get it to happen how I want without making some not-so-great-sounding decisions. So, I apologize for this chapter and any others that come along that make you think, "Psh, yeah right."

Sorry to end it here, by the way; I'm strongly anti-cliffhanger when it comes to reading—it drives me nuts when I don't know what's going to happen—but I love doing it in my own writing. I know, it's hypocritical, but I just can't help it.


	24. Crucio

It's here, finally, thanks to Issy. Lots of thanks to Issy. We're even now, even though she adamantly declares that I owe her one. I know, I said I thought I might get a chapter up every week from now on, but it's not exactly looking that way, is it?

Disclaimer: it's not mine. It's really not mine this time.

Anyway, I present to you: Chapter twenty-four of the Lord of Darkness!

Chapter 24

Crucio

They stood at the entrance to the colossal tomb. The enormous stone had been rolled aside. In front of them stood a gaping hole, inviting them to step in and meet their doom. Harry took a deep breath and plunged inside.

His world immediately tipped upside down. He felt as though he had been thrown thousands of miles. He heard Malfoy gasp behind him. When Harry opened his eyes, he could see nothing.

Harry blinked, then blinked again. The dark around him was so impenetrable and absolute he could almost breathe it in like smoke. Next to him, Malfoy shuddered slightly as the damp air tickled his skin.

Harry drew out his wand and whispered "Lumos." A narrow beam of light stretched from his wand, then was swallowed by the darkness ahead. He looked around. They were in a long tunnel that extended for an eternity of shadow in either direction. The walls were damp with moss, and he could hear water dripping softly somewhere far off.

"Where are we?" He asked Malfoy, his voice echoing off the walls, no matter how hard he tried to whisper.

"The London subway," Malfoy replied, glancing around and lighting the end of his own wand. Harry saw him involuntarily rub his forearm where, under his robes, the dark mark was emblazoned scarlet. "An old tunnel, of course, no longer in use. The Death Eaters have been using it as a hideaway for years."

"The… the subway?" Harry asked disbelievingly. "We were just in Egypt!"

"It was a portal of some sort. I don't know why it would take us here, though."

"Seems rather discouraging," Harry said softly. "We fly all the way to Egypt only to be transported back to England in the blink of an eye.

He looked down, and found that he was standing on long metal tracks that stretched before and behind him. He looked up again, and realized Malfoy had begun to trot down the tunnel ahead of him. Not wanting to be left alone, Harry dashed after him.

"If Snape isn't here," Malfoy stated matter-of-factly. "I don't know where he would be. Unless he's on _assignment,_" the last word was mocking, like an insult. "So…what's your plan?"

"Uh," every shadow was making Harry jump, and his palms were beginning to sweat. He had always thought that facing Snape would be a moment of great triumph for him, and he would emerge victorious, a score settled with the man who had shamed him and his father and killed Dumbledore. But now that the moment had come, he was sweating cold. What if he wasn't strong enough? "We find Snape, subdue him, and extract the counter curse from him. We don't really know enough about anything to do anything else."

Malfoy raised his eyebrows skeptically but said nothing.

They walked in silence for a few more minutes, listening to the drip of water and the beating of their own hearts.

The dark was so impenetrable and so absolute that their wands were soon useless, and the lights at the tip flickered and died.

"Dark magic," Malfoy whispered, tightening his hold on his wand. "The place is full of it."

Harry reached out and ran his hand along the mossy wall, feeling his way blindly through the gloom.

On they stumbled. The only way they knew they hadn't lost each other was by the sound of the other's breathing and pounding heart.

The texture of the wall below Harry's fingers suddenly changed from mossy growth to wet, slippery stone. Behind him, Harry heard Malfoy suck in his breath.

"What's wrong?" Harry asked. But then he felt it too.

Without warning, the air was suddenly ignited by a flash of orange light. Harry hit the ground, panic swelling in his chest.

"Well, well, well…what have we here? A little fool who thinks he's good enough to play the game." Another spell flew past Harry, this one silver white. For a moment, the tunnel around them blazed with light, and Harry saw that the wall beside him was splattered with fresh blood, smeared into the shape of the dark mark. "You're on enemy ground, Potter. And you're not going to walk out alive this time."

"Bellatrix." Harry's fingers clenched around his wand as hatred pooled in his chest. The memory of Sirius' body, falling in a slow, graceful arc, flashed through his mind. He turned around, pointing his wand blindly in the darkness and screamed. "_Sectumsempra_!"

The spell flew down the tunnel and out of sight. Harry could almost hear Bellatrix smile with malice. "I want to hear your last breath, Potter. I want to hear you die, the way I heard Black—"

"_Crucio!" _Rage was pumping in Harry's veins. The tunnel was illuminated for an instant, and Harry caught sight of Bellatrix's pale, triumphant face.

She shrieked with laughed. "Unforgivable Curses? Oh Potter, I am impressed! Surely your little auror friend would be ashamed. But no matter. I can play your game. _Crucio!_"

Harry ducked. The jet of light hit the wall behind him, and stone tainted with blood showered down on his head. "I'll kill you!" Harry screamed at her.

She laughed again. "Ooohhh, Potter's out for blood tonight. Come on Potter. Show me what you've got!" He heard a swish of air as she raised her wand again. "_Avada—_"

"ENOUGH!" A voice bellowed through the darkness.

Every muscle in Harry's body tensed and his scar prickled in anticipation. He knew that voice. He had heard it ever day of his school life for six years. The voice he had last heard declare himself the half blood price over Dumbledore's dead body.

Snape.

Quick footsteps down the tunnel, then a sharp smack and cry from Bellatrix. "How dare you disobey me! How dare you disobey your master! The Dark Lord does not want Potter dead…yet." Another smack, and a _flump _as Bellatrix hit the ground. A few footsteps, then, "Potter. Why did you come?"

Harry staggered to his feet, drunken with rage. He had forgotten about Malfoy behind him. He had forgotten about Hermione, lying like dead in St. Mungo's. He had forgotten the Order of the Phoenix and everything Tonks had taught him. All he could think of was Dumbledore. "I watched it, Snape. I was there. And I watched it all happen."

"What are you talking about?"

"You know perfectly well what I'm talking about!" Harry roared. "He trusted you! And you betrayed him! You stabbed him in the back! YOU KILLED DUMBLEDORE!"

"You fool," Snape hissed back at him through the darkness. "Is this what this is all about? Revenge? Did you come here just to settle this score?"

"He trusted you!" Harry bellowed into the darkness. "Dumbledore would have wept to see where you are now!"

"Dumbledore was a weeper."

"_Crucio!_" The jet of red light shot into the tunnel then bounced back.

"No Unforgivable Curses for you tonight, Potter. Haven't Lupin and Tonks and Moody taught you anything? Didn't Dumbledore teach you anything?"

"They taught me that love is stronger than hate!" Harry screamed. "And I _loved_ Dumbledore! He was like a father to me. Because I never had one!"

"Is that designed to hurt me? Is that your only weapon Potter? Every time something doesn't quite go your way, every time you're backed into a corner, you pull that on me. 'My father' this or 'my father' that_…_your father was a bastard."

"I'm going to kill you," Harry whispered. "And I'm going to enjoy it. I'm going to kill you for Sirius and for Dumbledore and for my parents!"

"Go on!" There was a swish of robes as Snape spread his arms in mock invitation. "Go on Potter. Kill me for your mother. Poor darling Lily, the only person in the whole bloody world who was every kind to me! The only person who every cared for me! The only woman I ever loved!"

Harry staggered backward in shock, his wand clattering to the ground. "You're lying!"

"Seven years at the miserable school and only one person! I never fit in, Potter! I never had any friends! I was half blood: the other Slytherins, they never wanted me! And your father and his stupid friends couldn't look at me without sneering, when the only thing I ever wanted was to be a part of them! Be a part of something! I was an outsider! And then your sweet mud blood little mother took pity on me, and decided to try and be nice. AND I LOVED HER FOR IT! SHE MADE ME LOVER HER FOR IT!" Snape's voice was choked with confession. "I kissed her Potter! I kissed Lily Evans!"

"Shut up!" Harry was on his knees, the tidal wave of truth hitting him.

"I kissed her in our fifth year, and you know what? Your father saw it! And he hated me for it!"

"He hated you because he saw you for who you really were: a backstabbing traitor! A worm!"

"He hated me because she kissed me back! He vowed to make my life miserable because of it! And he tormented me for the rest of those seven years of Hell. And I hated your father after that moment! And I hated your mother! Because my love for her was the reason I would never be friends with the only people I looked up to in the school!"

"LIAR! _Expelli—_"

"It hurts, doesn't it Potter? To know that your sainted parents are at fault!"

"YOU LYING BASTARD! _Cruci—_"

"Look me in the eyes, Potter," there was a flash of light, and the tunnel was suddenly dimly illuminated. There was Bellatrix, cowering on the ground, her dark hair in tangles, framing her pale cheeks, imprinted with the shape of Snape's hand. There was Malfoy, paler than normal, staring at Snape with a sort of shocked fear in his eyes. And there was the Half-Blood Prince himself, glaring at Harry, the child of his love and his hate. "Look me in the eyes, Potter, and tell me it's not true."

And every word of it was real. It was in his face.

Bellatrix suddenly staggered to her feet, wild with rage, her long finger pointing at Malfoy as she screamed, "YOU! YOU TRATIOR!"

Malfoy took a step back, drawing his wand, but Bellatrix was faster. She had already pounced.

Harry jumped to Malfoy's aide, but Snape seized him by the throat and pulled him back, knocking his wand out of his hand, wrapping one arm around Harry's throat and the other around his torso, pinning his arms to his side.

Harry had never quite seen furry like Bellatrix's, intent on killing a traitor to her blood, to her line, to her master.

Malfoy, caught off guard, struggled vainly against Bellatrix, trying to retrieve his wand from where it had tumbled from his grasp and landed few feet away.

Bellatrix raised her own wand, and shrieked a curse whose words were lost in her pitch of fury. Malfoy screamed in pain.

Harry struggled against Snape's grip, needing his wand, but to no avail.

_The inner sanctum…find your inner sanctum…wandless magic…_

Harry felt the familiarity of the magic beginning to pool inside of his stomach, the spreading, sweeping through his whole body. He felt his insides vibrating, and every fiber of his being began to warm, like he was stepping into an oven.

_The world is yours; you have only to reach out and grasp it…_

"_Crucio!_"

Instantly the heat in Harry's body turned to icy cold, a cold as absolute and terrifying and dark as the tunnel had been moments before. Bellatrix fell off Malfoy, screaming in agony.

"Let her go, Potter." Snape's grip tightened on Harry's neck.

But Harry couldn't let go. He felt tied, bound to the magic, like it was a part of him. He was shaking with power and fear, unable to stop.

She was convulsing, writhing in pain, her screams ringing off the walls of the tunnel, reflected and magnified one hundred times back to them, the cavern ringing with pain.

"I SAID LET HER GO!"

Bellatrix's screams were dying, and Harry's vision was beginning to dim. Malfoy was lying still, several feet from Bellatrix, the front of his robes stained with blood.

"POTTER!"

Snape flung Harry to the ground. The spell was shattered with an audible sound, like exploding glass, leaving Harry dizzy, weak, and tasting blood.

Snape put a foot on Harry's chest, pinning him to the ground, his wand pointed at Harry's throat. "Well, well Potter, I must say I am impressed. Your first Unforgivable Curse. And without a wand, too. Did you feel the exhilaration, Potter? Did you feel the joy as she suffered?"

Harry's mind was reeling with panic and he was still trapped in that terrible cold. _It's over…I should never have come…I should never have brought Malfoy…now we're both going to die…I'm going to die…_

_But not today. _

Snape raised his wand, but Harry had already grasped his own spell. "_Expelliarums!_"

Snape was blasted backward off his feet, his wand flying out of his hands. Harry scrabbled forward, snatching his own wand from the ground. Then he staggered to his feet, and pointed it at Snape.

He was ready to kill him, ready to end it all, when the bloodlust receded a little and a memory bit his mind. "At Pendragon Castle," his voice was shaking, but his wand was steady. "A death eater hit Hermione with a spell…"

Snape laughed coldly, a trickle off blood running down the side of his face. "So you finally remembered, Potter? Finally remembered why you came."

"What is the counter curse?" Harry growled through clenched teeth, his wand hand beginning to shake with anger and exertion.

"The healers at St. Mungo's won't find that curse in any of their books, Potter," Snape's eyes were burning with triumph. "Only one book contains the counter curse. The book you stumbled on last year in potions. Because the spell was invented by the Half-Blood Prince."


	25. Power and Responsibility

This is a happy chapter, for once… no one dies, no one disappears, no one gets killed, wounded, scalded in a vat of boiling cheese, suspended upside down by a rope while getting repeatedly dipped in a crockpot of chocolate fondue, stuck to a massive wall of jello being force-fed ramen noodles, or otherwise mangled.

I apologize for how long this chapter took to put up. This chapter was done three weeks ago, but I didn't post it for reasons known to only a friend (_cough_kenzi_cough_). Next one should come sooner.

Disclaimer: you know the drill. They should really just post this thing on the front of the site: "This site is intentionally for the posting of works that are inspired by or stolen from other published works. Plagiarism cannot be punished by law."

Chapter 25

Power and Responsibility

Snape was gone; Bellatrix was gone. Disapparated. Harry was left alone with his whirling, screaming, disbelieving thoughts. His chest heaved, gasping for breath that didn't seem to come. His body was still drenched in that icy cold, the terrifying chill of power and pain. His insides were leaden, his legs like jello. He felt his knees hit the cold stone floor, sending a jarring pain through his body.

_Crucio._ The Unforgivable Curse. He had broken a wizarding law. He had defied the Ministry of Magic. But it was not this that tore at him.

He had tortured a person. He had forced a living human being through the throes of terrible agony. He had gone against every moral sentiment he had ever learned and he had tortured a person.

A sob wrenched itself out of his throat. _What have I done?_

A slight moan came from behind him. He was yanked brutally back to the present, and he remembered, in a rush of confused, howling thoughts, where they were, why they were there, what had made him feel this way. He remembered who it was, lying behind him in the tunnel.

"Draco," he whispered.

He tried to call on his magic, feel the reserve burning within him, but for the first time in weeks it would not come. He needed light; he could see nothing in this darkness as black as death, closing in on him like an iron fist trying to claw the life out of his body. He dragged himself to the source of the moan.

He reached out and felt Draco's body, and a warm, sticky, liquid covered his hand. Blood.

"Let's get out of here," Harry whispered, forcing back the overwhelming physical and mental pain that was about to engulf him. Harry found Draco's forearm and gripped it tightly. He focused, fighting the dizzying throbbing that tore at his insides. He concentrated on Apparating, fixing his destination—St. Mungo's—in his mind and trying to force himself towards it.

It would not come.

His head throbbed worse. He felt his strength fleeing, his body collapsing. The world turned around; he did not know up from down or left from right.

Gasping one last time, Harry passed out.

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The icy chill was gone. His head didn't pound as badly anymore. His eyes flickered open. He still couldn't see anything, but his strength had returned. He reached out and felt Malfoy's body beside him.

A slight draft came swirling down the tunnel. The breeze was fresh, teasing him, inviting him to leave this wretched place. Exhaustedly, he searched for his Inner Sanctum.

It came, this time, with a rush of warmth. He hardly had the strength to say the spell. "Accio wand."

He felt his wand fly into his hand. He gripped it tightly, and his other hand found Malfoy's wrist. With a final effort, he Disapparated.

A quiet buzzing filled his ears. People around him were gasping, pointing. Where had he Disapparated to? He couldn't remember. He tried to heave himself up, but someone pushed him gently back down. "Stay there," a soft voice said. "We'll get help."

A few minutes later, he felt himself being lifted into the air, whether by a spell or by strong arms he knew not. He let himself fall into a passive, dazed sort of trance. There's nothing you can do, he told himself tiredly. Let them help you.

They set him down. Someone poured a sweet, biting liquid down his throat and the pain numbed slightly. "Hold on," someone said quietly. "Hold on."

The first thing Harry saw when he opened his eyes was the face of Remus Lupin. He blinked several times, ridding his vision of the blurred edges, and tried to sit up.

Lupin wouldn't let him. "Lie down," he said firmly. "You'll hurt yourself."

Harry blinked again. The room around him wouldn't come into focus. It was white and gray, that much he could tell, with people moving around him. "Whahreyoudoinere?" Harry said past a swollen throat.

"Pardon?" Lupin said.

Harry coughed, tasting the coppery flavor of blood. "What're… why are you here?"

"We got an owl saying you'd been hurt and that you were in St. Mungo's. I wasn't just going to leave you here."

"St. Mungo's?" Harry asked, trying to sit up again. Lupin still wouldn't allow him to. "How did I get here?"

"You Apparated into the middle of their front hall, apparently, bleeding and fainting."

"I didn't," Harry protested.

Lupin shrugged. "That's what they told me." He stood up restlessly and crossed to a brighter spot in the room, maybe a window. "Care to tell me what you and Malfoy were doing?"

"Malfoy…" Harry repeated slowly, not understanding. An image briefly flashed in front of his mind, one where a bushy-haired girl furiously slapped a sallow boy. He sat up straight. "Hermione," he gasped.

Lupin turned sharply. "What about Hermione?"

Harry struggled to remember. A rush of memories pounded into his skull, and he tried to shut them out. A wild, mocking laughter, a harsh voice interrupting it, spells cast, an outraged scream, more yelling…

And then he remembered. The scene came back with frightening clarity. "The counter curse," he gasped, hauling himself out of bed, "it's…"

Lupin forced him down once more. "Calm down, Harry, or you'll pass out again."

"There's a book!" Harry said, gasping and fighting Lupin's strong, resolute grip. "There's a book, and it has the counter curse!"

Lupin's grip faltered a moment. "A book? Are you sure, Harry?"

"Yes," he growled through gritted teeth. "Now let me up."

"Harry!" Lupin said, raising his voice slightly. "Calm down! What book is it?"

Harry calmed down momentarily. What had he done with it? Last year, after Snape had demanded to see it…

"The Room of Requirement," Harry said, breathing heavily. "It's a potions book. It has the answer in the vanishing cabinet in the Room of Requirement. You have to need a place to hide something, and it'll come up with a room. It's in the vanishing cabinet…"

Harry felt his strength waning. The room turned upside down once more, and merciful blackness engulfed him.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

"Harry," a voice said quietly.

Harry felt his mind emerge from its quiet, undisturbed corner of recuperation. The voice was gentle, soft, feminine. He knew it from somewhere.

Above him, though his vision was blurred, hung a massive brown blotch in the white ceiling. People were moving around him.

"Harry," the voice said again.

Harry blinked a few times. His head felt heavy and his eyelids droopy. "Wha…"

Someone put a cool hand on his forehead. "He's awake," said the voice. "Sort of."

Another voice, this one male, spoke distantly. "Hey mate," it said. "We're here."

There were other voices around him. Some said his name; others talked in excited whispers. Harry lifted a hand and rubbed his eyes.

The room came into sharper focus. He was still in the St. Mungo's room. It was midmorning, judging by the dancing November sunlight that filtered through the white curtains. There were people at the foot of his bed. Though the corners of his vision were still blurred, he knew who they were. There was Molly Weasley with her arm around Ginny, Bill standing next to them. Beside Bill was Lupin, and his hand was locked with Tonks' slender fingers. On the left side of his bed stood Ron, grinning down at him, and on his right, looking at him with pride, was…

"Hermione," he croaked, disbelievingly.

She looked pale and rather fragile, but very much alive and smiling the sweetest smile Harry had ever seen. He felt his throat constrict. A slow grin began to spread across his face. He pushed himself off the bed, noting that the throbbing had left his skull, and embraced her jubilantly. "Hermione," he said again, his eyes burning.

"Thank you, Harry," she whispered, hugging him back.

Then Ron was there, wrapping his own lanky arms around them both. Harry couldn't believe it. Hermione was there, not a ghost, not a memory, but very tangibly there, standing up. Harry pushed away the terribly memory of her lying there, icy, like she were dead. She's alive, he thought, his spirits soaring. She's alive, she's alive… Harry felt the tears slide down his cheeks, but for once, they were not tears of fear or of hatred or of sorrow. He felt Hermione kiss him on the cheek, saw as if from afar Ron turn to Hermione and kiss her on the lips, heard the roar of Bill and Ginny as they exchanged a high-five, heard Mrs. Weasley squeal in surprise.

And suddenly, everything went quiet. Approaching his bed, slowly, almost unsure, emerging from the corner of the room, came Draco Malfoy. He had a nasty-looking cut that stretched from his left temple to his chin, and he limped as he approached, but his face bore no grimace of pain. He looked at Harry as Hermione and Ron parted to let him through. "You did it, Potter," he said quietly.

Harry looked into those dark eyes, saw the hand that he stuck out to shake, and then he abandoned all dignity and embraced Draco, whispering. "Thank you."

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"I was asleep for _three days_?" Harry asked incredulously. "_Three days?_"

Ron shrugged. Lupin stood over at the window, gazing out at the clear night sky. "I found that book, Harry, and I found the spell and the counter curse needed. Hermione was slipping away, you know. She wouldn't have held out much longer."

Harry rubbed his temples. "What did I do that put me out for so long?" he whispered.

"You did something very draining to your body, Harry. The healers said it had something to do with your Inner Sanctum."

Hermione looked sharply at Harry. Gazing at Lupin, Harry asked, remembering painfully the spell that had crossed his lips, "What was it?"

"You drained it. You forced it to do something that it didn't want to do."

Lupin turned away from the window and gazed at him intently. "Harry," he said quietly, "Did you perform one of them?"

Ron and Hermione looked from Lupin to Harry, clearly not understanding. But Harry knew perfectly well what he meant. He knew Lupin read the answer in his face.

"I didn't mean to," Harry whispered. "I didn't know what else to do… she was attacking Draco and he was bleeding, and Snape had me by the neck and my wand was ten feet away… it was the only thing I could think of. She screamed…" Bellatrix's screams reverberated in his mind even now, three days after he had cast the spell. He couldn't bear it. He shuddered violently.

Lupin nodded, silencing him. "I know. I don't hold you in any less esteem for it, Harry, I promise."

Ron still looked confused, but a grim understanding was crossing Hermione's face. "It's okay, Harry."

"It's not," he whispered, averting his eyes. "It's against the law. It's against everything I've ever learned. Dumbledore would never have…"

Lupin sat on the end of his bed, his head in his hands. "Harry," he said slowly, "that you could do what you did shows immense power. Very few people can cast those spells. Fewer ever do." He looked sharply at Harry. "But with that power," he said quietly, "comes great responsibility. You have an obligation to exercise prudence, a duty to make wise decisions. There are cases in which those three spells may be necessary, but there are very few. Never use them unless it is absolutely necessary."

Harry met his eyes. "I won't," he whispered.

They left soon after, leaving Harry alone with his thoughts. His terrible, relentless, struggling thoughts. The ideas he had repressed since his encounter with Snape surfaced. Lily, his mother, and Snape? The thought repulsed him. And yet, he knew Snape hadn't been lying. He knew had seen it in those black, merciless eyes. Had she loved him? Why had she married James, then? He had seen Snape's memory in his fifth year. He had seen Lily, seen that she had hated James. Why were they married? Harry's thoughts whirled. He pictured Lily kissing Snape, greasy-haired, hook-nosed Snape, and he shuddered.

_No_, he thought.

A/N: Now I find myself wanting to write the scene where Lily kissed Snape, but I don't think I'm ever going to be able to work it in here. Too bad. So I might write it as a oneshot. That'd be fun… hmm….


	26. Viktor Krum

Alright, I have determined something. I'm going to _try_ to update every other day until I'm finished with this story. I know you're all shaking your heads out there, thinking, "Maybe after this resolution she'll at least update once every other _week_," but I'm serious this time. There will be exceptions, but I will try to update. I want to finish this before the real version of this story is released, and I'm sick of working on it. I have a gazillion other ideas for fics that I don't want to start until I've finished this one, so that's another incentive. And SkyHighFan, please, feel free to send me PMs every day, reminding me to update, as long as you review :-D

By the way, I apologize for not using Krum's accent. I know he has one, but I can't remember what it sounds like, and it seems like an awful lot of pain to look it up to keep up with something so trivial. 

Chapter 26

Viktor Krum

After a long week and a half, everything was back to normal.

If there was a normal.

Harry was sitting, after a long but strangely refreshing day, behind his desk, rubbing his temples over a stack of essays that needed grading. He scanned each paper, crossed out a few things and scribbled some comments in the margins, and put a grade on top, setting it aside to tackle the next one. It was barely eight-thirty, but he was already exhausted.

His mind wandered as he tried to focus on the parchment in front of him. Hermione was back and well, Bill was alright, and he couldn't help but be in a wonderful mood, even if he was tired. He leaned back pensively.

So much has happened, he thought, and yet we haven't even reached December.

The door to his office opened, and through his half-closed eyelids he watched as Hermione came in and pulled up a chair next to him.

"You look tired," she remarked, pulling the stack of essays towards her.

"Mmm," he acquiesced, locking his hands behind his head.

"What're these on?"

"Basic spells, their conjuring, and practical uses."

"First-years?"

"Yes."

"Do you want me to grade them?"

He sat up and took the stack back, sighing. "You have enough to do to get caught up, and it's my job. They won't like it if their essays come back with someone else's handwriting all over them."

Hermione smiled. "At least they'd be able to read it."

"Hey. My writing's not that messy."

"Harry?"

"Yes?"

"How do you think Ron would react if another friend of mine were to come visit for a while?"

He looked up distractedly. "Another friend? From where?"

"Bulgaria."

His eyes narrowed. "You've invited Viktor Krum."

She blushed slightly. "Yes. It's not a romantic relationship, Harry. We've decided we're just friends. But Ron might not be able to see that."

"Ah."

"So?"

"How would Ron react?" Harry knew the answer, though he didn't want to tell Hermione, so he hesitated.

"Yes?" she prompted.

"Honestly… I think he'd be furious. But he'd get over it soon enough."

She faltered. "It's just for a week."

"I know. But Ron would see it as you rejecting him. Ron can be a bit hard-headed that way."

She muttered something darkly under her breath, and then she said, in a slightly more light-hearted tone, "Maybe it'll deflate his ego a bit."

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

"It is good to see you again, Harry."

"You too," Harry responded, nonplussed. The truth was, he wasn't particularly excited about meeting Viktor Krum again. The last time he had seen him, he had just emerged from the graveyard after Cedric was killed and Voldemort was reborn. Krum just brought back a lot of painful memories.

His consternation, however, was nothing compared to Ron's. His best friend stood beside him, glowering at nothing in particular, and when Krum shook his hand, it looked as though Ron were trying to crush the other's fingers. Krum withdrew rather quickly.

Hermione looked at him sternly, then glanced pleadingly at Harry. "I'll help you bring your stuff up to your room," she said, picking up his bag and starting off with it. Krum relieved her of her burden, despite her protests, and followed her out of the entry hall.

Ron glared after him.

Harry, knowing what Hermione's look had meant, drew him aside. "Ron," he said exasperatedly, "I know Hermione told you, but she wanted me to reiterate; their relationship is just friendly. They're friends, not romantically involved in any way. Like she and I. _Friends_."

"I know," he said in a barely subdued voice. He didn't look like he knew. "Where's he staying?"

"I offered to let him use the bedroom next to my office, since I don't sleep there anyway."

Ron looked livid, but he didn't say anything.

That week was a very long week. Harry's third-years were having trouble producing any semblance of patronuses. He had searched in vain for a boggart in the castle, and he couldn't think of any way to produce the effect of having a dementor in the room, which would surely scare them into doing the spell right. Ron was angry and taciturn except when Krum was in the bathroom and he, Harry, and Hermione were alone for a few brief minutes. Krum attended lessons with them, ate with them, even hung out with them in the common room. Hermione, apparently, had used her good standing to get permission for all of this from McGonagall.

Finally, it was Friday night. The next morning, they would walk down to Hogsmeade, where they would see him off when he Apparated back to wherever Durmstrang was.

Harry gazed around the classroom. The sixth years had been doing extra credit projects, and they sat all around the room. They had been charged to come up with a spell that would differentiate immediately between a boggart and a real menace, and he had finally, two nights previously, located a boggart in a suit of armor in the Transfiguration hallway. He was doubly happy; he would have something to test his spells on _and_ a way to teach his third years to do patronuses.

He was halfway through the stack of parchment slips that the students had written their spells on for testing when he came across one that didn't… work. Instead, it turned the boggart into a big ball of green slime.

"Ew," Harry said, as he watched it hover in midair. "Riddik—"

But he never finished the spell. The ball whacked into his face, sending him flying backwards. As if the pain of impact wasn't bad enough, he slammed his head on the floor, slivers of pain into his skull. He tried to draw breath, but the ball was plastered over his face, and he couldn't seem to get it off, no matter how hard his hands pulled…

There was someone else in the room, yelling, casting spells, and finally he heard, through a curtain of pain and dizziness, the person land on the right spell. "Riddikulus!"

The ball of slime flew off his face, and Harry sucked in a blessed breath. He lay on the floor, panting for a few moments, while his eyes focused and his splitting headache dulled.

"Are you okay?" asked the three Krums that seemed to be standing over him. Then they merged into two, then one, then back to three…

"Stop moving," he muttered. "You're making my head hurt."

"I'm not moving," he said. "You are seeing things. Here, let me help you."

He muttered a spell, and Harry's vision focused instantly.

"I'm sorry I cannot do anything for your head," he said, and he really sounded sorry. "I have only a help for vision."

"It's okay," Harry muttered, pushing himself off the floor and rubbing the back of his head. He could already feel an nasty-sized goose egg forming.

"What happened?" Krum asked.

"Some idiot sixth year's idea of a practical joke," he answered, heaving himself into his chair. "Someone is going to get a week of detention." He glanced at the paper. It didn't have a name on it. He looked at it in confusion. "That's strange…" He couldn't think of anyone who often forgot to put his name on his paper… but then, his mind probably wasn't functioning at its highest ability right now.

"It was a spell to turn a boggart into something else?"

"It was _supposed_ to be a spell to distinguish between a boggart and the real thing, but it didn't work."

"That is powerful magic," Krum said, looking concerned.

Harry shrugged. "He probably did it by accident."

Krum didn't look convinced, but he didn't argue, either.

"Look," Harry said, "thanks. That thing… I think it could've killed me, though I might've gotten it off before I suffocated…"

"It's no problem," he answered, nodding modestly. "I heard something bang very loudly and I was the closest one to it. It was my duty."

"Well, thank you."

"You're welcome."

"So you're leaving tomorrow?"

"I am."

"Hermione has really had a good time this week."

"Your friend Ron has not."

Harry sighed. "He's jealous. He doesn't understand that you're not interested in her as a girlfriend."

"I am sorry to hear that."

Harry shrugged. "It's not your fault."

Suddenly, an idea occurred to him. It had been sort of nagging at him all week, but he hadn't paid it much thought. He recalled something he had said to Hermione before school started.

"I know this sounds strange, but I think there's a Horcrux at Durmstrang. Don't reject that immediately; think about it. It's the school of the Dark Arts. Apparently, not many people know where it is, seeing as Karkaroff wanted to keep its location a secret when he was here during the Triwizard Tournament. It makes sense, doesn't it?"

"Who's the headmaster of Durmstrang now?" Harry asked.

"A man named Holinskii. He is a far better headmaster than Igor Karkaroff ever was."

"I'm glad to hear that. Is he more willing to have visitors?"

Krum looked at him strangely. "I… are you suggesting that Hermione come back with me?"

"Oh, no," Harry said hastily. "I don't know if she would part from her studies for that long. I meant… if I wanted to visit for a while."

He looked genuinely surprised. "That would be… I would be fine with it, but I cannot vouch for my headmaster. What would be your purpose?"

Harry shrugged, coming up with something fast. "I'm the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher here, and Durmstrang is the school of the Dark Arts. Think how much I could learn! And then I could teach the students here to defend themselves better."

Krum stroked his chin. "I am no longer a student there," he mused. "I am a teacher, and so I have more authority than I did…"

Harry balked. "You're a teacher?"

"You seem surprised, and yet you are as well, and younger than I."

"Have you given up Quidditch?"

"Yes."

Harry looked at him. "Why?"

Krum sighed. "It's a long story."

"We've got all night, if you want it."

"I started playing Quidditch when I was in my first year at Durmstrang because it was what my father expected of me. He was a Quidditch star, you see, and he wanted the same for me. And I had a natural talent for it, so I continued. But I've never really enjoyed it."

"But a teacher?"

"I always excelled in potions, Harry," he said slowly. "They were my passion, though I never revealed it until my father died."

Harry sat back in his chair. Until now, he had looked upon Viktor Krum distantly, as though he were a celebrity with no real life. Now he got a glimpse into the real man, the man that Hermione, apparently, was able to see. The man who had feelings and thoughts and family.

"I think I could get permission for you to come to Durmstrang," he said thoughtfully.

"This next week?"

"Do you have someone to cover your classes?"

"Hermione would be delighted to."

He grinned. "I'm sure she would."


	27. Durmstrang

Alright, so yeah, this is coming more than two days later. More like five days. But here's my defense: I had the chapter _completely_ typed up, but what I didn't realize was that I was saving it in a temporary file. So I was done with it, and I was going to update it, but then I closed MS Word and my computer deleted the entire file, including my chapter. So, after this infuriating event, I'll be sure _not_ to save any of my documents in temporary files, and for now, this chapter will probably be a lot shorter and a lot less detailed than the original one. 

Disclaimer: same thing applies. All recognizable characters, places, events, et cetera, belong to JK Rowling, not to me. Any thing that is unrecognizable is mine, and I'll sue you for stealing it.

Chapter 27

Durmstrang

Harry didn't tell Ron and Hermione until they stood just outside Hogsmeade. He knew they would want him either to stay or to let them come along, and neither was going to happen. He had to find the Horcrux, and he had to do it without drawing too much attention to himself. The fewer people that came with him, the better.

"Hermione, I have a favor to ask," Harry said slowly as they walked towards Hogsmeade, where they would tell Viktor—and, as of yet unbeknownst to Ron and Hermione, Harry—goodbye.

"Mmm?"

"Will you take my classes for me for a week?"

She halted in her tracks. "Pardon?"

"Will you cover my classes for a week?"

Her eyes narrowed. "And where, pray tell, do you think you're going?"

"To Durmstrang."

Ron had stopped by now as well. He looked at Harry incredulously. "You're going to _Durmstrang_? What on earth could you possibly want there?"

Harry didn't meet his eyes. "It's a school of the Dark Arts. I want to be able to teach my students as much as I possibly can."

When Ron returned to Hogwarts, he would find a letter for him and Hermione awaiting them on his bed, explaining the real reason. He didn't want to lie to them, but he couldn't say anything in front of Viktor.

Hermione simply gaped, and for once, she seemed to be at a loss for words. It was Ron who began protesting first.

"But you haven't got any luggage! What're you going to wear for a week? And who'll be there to—"

"I've sent my luggage ahead," he said loudly over Ron's voice, "and I can take care of myself."

"I want to come with you," Hermione said.

"No."

"Why not?" she and Ron demanded simultaneously.

"Because I don't want to draw attention to myself, and plus, Durmstrang's headmaster only wanted one person to come."

"He wants as little out of ordinary as possible,'" Viktor explained apologetically. "It was hard enough to get him to let Harry come."

"Wait a second," Ron said, rounding on Viktor. "_You_ knew about this, and yet you—" he jabbed his finger at Harry, "—didn't even tell _us_?"

Harry put his hand on his friend's shoulder. "You would've tried to talk me out of it, or talk me into letting you go."

"You could've just said no!"

_I could have, yes, at the beginning. But I wouldn't have held out, _Harry thought. _You have no idea how much sway you have over me._ _I couldn't tell you because I knew that I wasn't strong enough to refuse when you begged me to let you come._ But all he said was, "I'm sorry, Ron. I'll see you in a week."

Hermione embraced him. "Goodbye," she whispered. "Be careful."

"Bye," Ron muttered rebelliously.

"Hold onto my arm, Harry," Krum ordered, "since you don't know where you're going."

"Bye, Harry!" Hermione said.

"Goodbye!" he answered as the black bands of Apparition began to encircle him. _I miss you already._

And then Ron and Hermione faded, blackness engulfed him momentarily, and then he found himself standing at the side of an enormous lake. He looked around; the scenery that surrounded him was gorgeous. Mountains jutted out in the distance, forested terrain covered the ground on the other side of the lake, and brilliant morning sky was clearer than he'd ever seen it.

Then the cold hit him, chilling him to the bone, fighting its way inside his lungs and forcing the breath out of him. His ragged gasps rose in cloudy spirals above him, and goose bumps erupted on his arms. "It—it's freezing!" he stuttered, his teeth beginning to chatter.

Viktor handed him a thick fur coat. Where he had produced it from, Harry had no idea, but he accepted it gratefully and wrapped it around his shoulders. At once, instantaneous warmth began to spread through his body. The coat must have been enchanted to warm its wearer immediately.

Viktor started towards the other side of the lake. "Durmstrang, like Hogwarts," he explained, "is enchanted so that you cannot Apparate directly onto the grounds. There is also a spell cast so that no one can enter the grounds against the will of the headmaster."

Harry caught up with him eagerly. "Really? What if the headmaster doesn't know you're entering?"

His companion nodded. "That's the glitch. Only those whom the headmaster has strictly refused entry are barred. So it works against a few, but not most."

"But you could go through the names of… say the Death Eaters, and Voldemort, and forbid access?"

Viktor winced at the Dark Lord's name, but nodded nonetheless. "Exactly. So it does serve a good purpose."

Walking swiftly, they rounded the point of a hill, and Durmstrang Castle rose into full view. It was not nearly as tall or imposing as Hogwarts, but the surroundings made up for it; it stood on an island in the middle of a large lake. Surrounding the lake were trees, old trees that seemed to whisper to each other as they towered overhead, swaying in the breeze. "How do we get over there?" Harry asked, shielding his eyes as he stared towards the castle, silhouetted against the rising sun.

In answer, Viktor led the way towards the shore, and Harry made out a line of several small boats floating in the water a hundred yards from land. Viktor raised his wand and muttered a spell, and one of the boats began gliding towards them.

It was small and white and quite steady, not rocking like Harry would expect a boat to. Viktor got in after him and muttered another incantation, and this one sped him along towards the castle, dark against the morning sky.

Viktor led him up to the top floor in the top tower. "The headmaster asked that you be brought to meet him," he explained, ascending the first flight of stairs. Students of all ages looked at him strangely as he passed. He obviously was not Russian, for starters, or even Asian, and even here, many people recognized him by the scar he bore on his forehead.

It was not cold in the castle; either the walls blocked enough wind to keep it warm or his coat worked very well. He felt odd wearing a cloak indoors, but everyone else was as well, and they took no notice of it. Harry saw no ghosts or suits of armor, but beautiful, elegant tapestries adorned all the walls, depicting a wide variety of scenes. Spaced intermittently down the hallways were Russian flags; apparently, this school was very loyal to its country. Harry stopped to stare in front of a tapestry that displayed a man with a hand sprouting out of his head and two tiger heads for feet. Viktor pulled him along. "Don't ask," he said fervently.

Finally, they arrived outside a set of double oak doors. Harry was panting, but he made an attempt to look presentable as Viktor, who did not even seem to be slightly winded, rapped on the wood.

"Enter," a strong voice called.

The voice was half-familiar. Viktor pushed the door open and walked inside, beckoning Harry in and standing respectfully until his headmaster asked him to sit. The man emerged from the shadows, holding several books in one arm and leaning on a cane with the other. He had rather short, black hair, brown eyes, and his face looked startlingly familiar. Harry couldn't place it, but it seemed as though he had seen it before.

"Ah, Harry Potter," he said, laying the books on the desk. He limped over and extended his hand.

Two things flashed across Harry's mind as he shook it. Firstly, this man was young, far younger than he would expect a headmaster to be. He couldn't have been older than thirty-five, despite the limp in his leg. The second thing was: he had a British accent. It wasn't Russian or Bulgarian or even Asian. It was British, just like Harry's.

This alone disconcerted him. What was a foreigner doing running such a patriotic school as this?

"Please, do sit down," the headmaster invited him, taking a seat behind his own desk. "I'm Aidan Holinskii, headmaster of Durmstrang."

"Pleased to meet you."

Professor Holinskii smiled slightly. "You look confused, my friend."

"Erm… you're not… you're…"

"I'm… handsome? Intelligent? Bat-eared? Ugly? Smelly?"

"No, no," Harry said quickly. "You're… British."

He nodded. "I was raised in Britain, but my heritage is Russian."

Harry didn't believe him. If anything, he looked Greek. There was something funny going on with this man.

"Well, Mr. Potter, allow me to welcome you to my school. As a teacher from another school, you have all the privileges of a guest and a teacher during your stay here. I ask only that you don't stir my students to riot against me and that you don't use the bathrooms at the far end of the second floor. The plumbing is currently out of order. Otherwise, make yourself comfortable."

"Thank you, sir."

Harry didn't like the way Holinskii was looking at him. It was as though he were hungry for more information, but he concealed so much himself that he was not willing to tell. "Viktor," he said suddenly, turning to his pupil, "could you go downstairs and fetch Polikoff for me?"

"Yes sir." Viktor bowed and left with a swish of his cloak.

Holinskii was silent for a moment, and then he said, in a slightly softer voice, "Would you like to hear a secret, Mr. Potter?"

"I can't really answer that question unless I hear the secret, and by then it would be too late."

Harry didn't like this man. His manner was easy, friendly, and outgoing, but he concealed something, something that made him another person entirely. And it was that _something_ of which Harry was afraid.

"Well, then, as I feel it is something you might like to know, I will continue to expound it to you. I am aware of the scrapes you have had with the Dark Lord."

"Who isn't?" Harry asked dryly.

"I know, after everything you have been through, you are the one most likely to defeat him."

Harry looked at him. "I'd rather not. I'd rather just hide on a beach in Jamaica and never have to see him again."

"I know you would. But I also know something that you don't."

Holinskii levered himself out of his chair with his cane and limped towards Harry. The latter wondered vaguely what had brought about his handicap; he was too young to be suffering failing joints.

"Do you know what a Horcrux is?" the man asked suddenly.

Harry felt his heart leap into his throat. _Someone else knows,_ he thought frantically, _and I don't know whose side he's on._

"I… no, sir." He didn't know why he was lying, but something told him that pretending ignorance was better than revealing the truth.

Holinskii laughed. "You're an abysmal liar, Harry," he informed him.

"Why, thank you."

Holinskii left him abruptly and stood musingly in front of a bookshelf. "Well, you know what they are. And from your eyes—" he turned his gaze to meet Harry's—"you have made the same deduction I have, and taken it a step further, even—you're hunting them down."

Harry shook his head. "I don't know what you're talking about, sir."

"Oh, yes you do. That's okay, you don't have to tell me the truth, but know this—I can help you if you want me to."

At that moment, Viktor returned with a younger boy who looked slightly bemused. "Ah, Polikoff. This is Harry Potter. As there seems to be a shortage of bunks in Viktor's room, would you please see to it that Mr. Potter finds one in yours? You can show him to it now."

And then Harry found himself outside the door, with the oak swinging shut, left to contemplate what must've been the strangest conversation he had ever had.


	28. The Fifth Horcrux

Guess what? I had this one done within my two-day limit. But guess what else? Fanfiction is currently not working for me—it won't upload this document. So as soon as it allows me to update, I will (I think it's safe to assume that if you're reading this, it's already happened). I know, it sounds like a fabricated excuse, but I swear it's not. 

Disclaimer: it's not mine.

Chapter 28

The Fifth Horcrux

Harry was beginning to wonder what he could possibly hope to accomplish in just one week at Durmstrang. Two days of constant observation, nighttime explorations, and discreet questions had revealed absolutely nothing about any object that might be a Horcrux, any mysterious rooms in which a Horcrux might be hidden, or any strange actions by those who might know where the Horcrux was.

However, despite his growing apprehension, he could not help but be enthralled by Durmstrang School. It was not separated by house as Hogwarts was, nor was it divided by age. Instead, each person belonged to one of ten groups comprised of others of the same ability level. Progression through the school was not determined by how many years a student had been there, but by how fast he excelled. It took some fifteen years to graduate, and others managed it in five. There was a sort of final exam required to pass into the next group, and one could stay in the same group for three or more years if he couldn't get the hang of one particular exam.

Harry had been at the breakfast table on the first morning of his visit, perched on a bench between Viktor and Polikoff, Viktor's best friend. Halfway through a plate of odd-looking but delicious sort of mush that was called granka, Viktor paused as though remembering something. He reached into his bag and handed Harry what looked like a wriggling slug; Harry drew back, repulsed.

"Put it in your ear," Viktor urged. "It is a translator; it will enable you to hear conversations in English, so that you can understand what people say while you're here. Compliments of Professor Holinskii."

Harry took it apprehensively, holding on to its brown, squirming body. "It won't damage my ear?"

Viktor shook his head. Harry sighed, held it up to his ear, and gasped; there was an unpleasant sucking sensation, and then he felt it no more. And Viktor was talking again.

"I'm talking in Russian now. Can you understand me?"

Harry nodded, surprised. It sounded like Viktor spoke in English, with a British accent, moreover. He sounded a lot clearer than he had while Harry was actually listening to him speak English.

He had been welcomed enthusiastically by most of the school. Harry trailed Viktor unquestioned through his classes, picking up bits of information and storing them for future use.

Harry didn't learn much of anything new except in Viktor's Dark Arts class. The first day he came, they were beginning a new concept.

"The Greeks were not far off when they attributed magical properties to their four elements. Can anyone tell me what those elements were?"

A few people muttered the answer.

"Earth, air, fire and water, that's right."

Professor Dmitri Askhov was tall, thin, and graying, but he had a vitality about him that belied any signs of his age. Harry was wary of trusting anyone, especially in a school renowned for teaching the Dark Arts, but he found he liked this man. He reminded him of Lupin: quiet, calm, shrewd, and wise, but more powerful than he let on. _Ironic,_ he smiled to himself, _I like him, and yet I teach my students to fight the very things he teaches his to do._

"The elements do not have magical properties, but they do have magic stored in them. Everything does. Some more than others, but all the same, it does. Muggles, even, have magic, but not enough to control and use consciously.

"This is important because sometimes you will find that your own reserve of magic is not enough. You will find that you are not powerful enough for a spell, that you need more of it. If you are concentrated, if you know what you are doing, you can draw the magic out of your surroundings. You can use it yourself, channel it where you want it to go."

Harry, enthralled, leaned forward slightly.

"Manmade things have very little magic in them. You will not find a hundredth of the magic required to even the simplest spell in something that has been fashioned by a human. Nature, however, is rich in it, especially the four Greek elements. Where air is present—everywhere, I hope, that you might be—you can draw on its power to aid your own. Does anyone know what kind of spells would most likely require this?"

"The Unforgivable Curses?" someone ventured.

"Yes, very good. Anything else? Mr. Potter, perhaps you know?"

Harry sat up a little straighter. "The Evanescent Spells."

"Indeed. Unless you are very magically deficient, these are the only spells for which you should need to draw upon your surroundings."

He taught them how to do it next. Harry found himself, along with the rest of the class, working hard to find magic in the air around him. "Let yourself feel it," Askhov had said. "It's like your Inner Sanctum, except it's harder to feel because it's not yours, it's not inside you."

Harry groped around with his mind, trying to sense it on his skin, but it would not come.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

During dinner on Thursday, Harry excused himself to go to the bathroom. Within the unfamiliar corridors of this castle, it was not long before he found himself lost.

"Crud," he said, turning around and trying to get a hold of his bearings. He had no idea where he was. He glanced out a nearby window—he seemed to be on the second floor, but beyond that, he could not tell. The scenery was beautiful during the day, but at night, with nothing but pitch black all around he couldn't tell even which direction he was facing.

He wandered throughout the halls, looking at tapestries, half-searching for a bathroom. He didn't have to go that badly, and he enjoyed the solitude while everyone was at dinner.

He was standing in front of a particularly fantastic one—an intricate embroidery of the castle itself—when he felt a strange, half-familiar feel. It was like a warm breeze, but that didn't make sense because he was wrapped in a fur coat and he was in Northern Russia—where in the world would a warm breeze come from? Then he realized that it was not a physical sensation, and with that came the odd feeling that he had felt it before.

Then Professor Askhov's words came to his mind. _It's like your Inner Sanctum, except that it's harder to feel because it's not yours…_

And then Harry knew what it was. It felt exactly like the sensation that he got when finding and calling upon his reserve of magic, except it was on the outside. It was the magic of the air.

He held very still for several long minutes, absorbing it, feeling it, getting to know the feeling well enough that he could find it again if he wanted it to. Then he tried to let it recede like he let his Inner Sanctum do, but it would not. It remained there with him, almost inside him.

Curious, he walked twenty paces down the hall. The feeling disappeared. Back in front of the tapestry, it returned.

_Why do I feel it here?_

He leaned closer to the tapestry, and it got stronger. _The air is heavy with magic…_

Slowly, wonderingly, with no idea what he would find, Harry drew back the heavy piece of cloth.

There was nothing but cold, unblemished stone. But Harry could feel the magic pulsing in the air, radiating from that one spot, and he knew it was not the rock surface it pretended to be.

Everything has magic… 

The stone, Harry thought. Maybe I can do something with _its_ magic.

He laid his palm against the cool surface and ran it along the bumps and cracks, waiting for the same sensation he felt from the air.

"You have to talk to it," Askhov had said. "Understand it, go inside it. Treat it like an equal. Then it will open itself to you."

_I want to talk to you, _Harry thought, concentrating on the stone. _Talk to me._ He tried to feel himself inside its black, solid body.

And then, with a gentle tingling in his hand, he felt the stone respond.

Without warning, his fingertips began to dissolve, and he felt his body, his thoughts, his very essence, being pulled into the rock. And suddenly, with a momentary, very disconcerting feeling of being in lots of places all at once, he found himself on the other side.

It was dark, so pitch black that he was sure his eyes would never adjust. He felt for his wand, but realized with a jolt that he had left it in his bag at the dinner table. Calming himself—_funny, _he thought, _that I feel so insecure without a narrow, flimsy stick of wood_—he called upon his Inner Sanctum. With the familiar rush of pleasure and peace, he watched his hand begin to glow with a soft yellow light.

He found himself in a narrow cavern, one that wound of into the distance, sloping slowly downward. Harry debated for only a moment before proceeding cautiously. _Maybe _this _is where the Horcrux is…_

The tunnel went on for what seemed like ever. Once or twice, Harry thought he heard the ghosts of footsteps behind him, and he stopped, holding his breath and waiting. There was never any noise while he was silent.

The tunnel was old; that much was obvious. Water dripped down the slick stone sides, and small stalactites clung to the ceiling, rimmed at the base by a greenish-blackish moss. Harry shuddered more than once, wishing he had more than his fur cloak to keep him warm, even though it should have been perfectly adequate.

At long last, he came to a thick oak door. He reached out to push it open, but it swung forward on its hinges without any contact from him. With a gulp resounding of fear and curiosity, he stepped forward.

This cavern was softly lit, though not by any detectable source. It was circular, with a high, domed ceiling and pillars on the edges. In the center stood a massive round table, with thirteen high-backed wooden chairs spaced around it. Harry found himself wishing Ron and Hermione were with him because for the first time in a long time, he felt utterly alone.

Closing his eyes to regain his composure, Harry walked up to the table.

It had curious carvings all over the top, sprawled out over the circle that must have been twenty feet in diameter. They were surrounded by a huge pentagon, like equal lines that connected the five points of a star, which rested at the very edge of the table. Harry fingered the designs briefly, then walked around the table in a circle. There was no other exit, and this room seemed to be the end of this passageway.

"What is this place?" he whispered aloud.

"It is the original meeting place of the founders of our school."

Harry's heart shot into his throat and he whirled around to confront the voice. He held his magic at the ready, a spell already at the tip of his tongue, but there was no one there.

The voice laughed. "I see you're not as composed as you thought you were."

The voice was right; Harry was most definitely not. During all his years in the wizarding world, he had never encountered something like this. What was worse, if this was what he thought it was—namely, Voldemort's hiding place for a Horcrux—the voice was probably not on his side. He looked wildly around for its source, but nothing presented itself.

"Who are you?" he demanded.

The voice laughed again, a cold, malevolent laugh. "I might ask the same of you."

Harry threw caution to the winds. "I have come to retrieve what it is you guard."

"I guard nothing."

"Liar."

"You dare to impugn my honor?" the voice said mockingly.

"Why else would you be down here?"

"What makes you think I'm 'down here?' As far as you can tell, I don't even exist."

"You exist, alright. You have a voice, do you not? Perhaps it's disembodied, but still you exist."

"You're a smart boy."

"Then you know you cannot fool me with lies that you guard nothing. So either tell me how to get it or let me alone so I can think a moment."

"How about I tell you." The voice sounded amused. "You have to defeat me."

"You?" Harry scoffed, knowing he sounded about a million times more confident than he felt. "I hardly think you'd be hard to beat, seeing as you don't even have a body."

"I don't have a body, do I?" the voice said scathingly. As he spoke, something materialized in the air in front of Harry. He took a step back in fear and shock.

In a moment, a small boy stood before him. He knew better than to actually believe the guise, but that's the form this being chose to take.

The boy seized him up. "You don't look like much," it told him. "Look like you could be seduced by a stupid, pretty woman."

With that, the boy turned into just that: a pretty young woman in a tight dress with a very low neckline and no sleeves.

"Sorry," Harry said, "I'm not interested. Now you can hand over that thing I mentioned or I'm going to blow you into oblivion."

The woman laughed. "You don't have the power to do that."

Harry had been wracking his brains for what this entity might be, and he had finally landed on what he thought it was. It was a demon, a being from some other world that someone—probably Voldemort had called to his service. Demons were impish, traitorous, and dangerous, but they were confined to strict rules. They couldn't violate the will of whoever had called them to earth, nor could they emerge from their pentacles without their master's permission. Harry glanced around the room, and noticed for the first time that a ring of tiles formed a five-sided pentagram, and there were intricate symbols on the tiles. Harry was inside its territory, and he had to get out.

There was the pentacle on the table, carved into the wood. With one swift movement, he leapt towards the table, heaved himself up onto it, and rolled into the pentagram. Demon law said that the lines of a pentacle could not be crossed even if the it was inside the demon's. Indeed, the pretty young woman looked livid and quickly changed shape into a minotaur with smoke spiraling out of its nose. Harry knew by this that he was safe. For now.

But there was no getting out. The Minotaur stood between him and the only door, and besides, he hadn't yet found the Horcrux.

"A battle of strength, wizard," the Minotaur spat.

Harry laughed derisively. "When you can pick any shape you want? I don't think so."

"Your magical abilities must far exceed mine."

"Who are you?"

The Minotaur looked smug. "As if I would tell you."

Having the name, the true name of a demon would give the person with that knowledge the power to control it. Harry remembered all this from his third year.

"They're dangerous, yes, and they will do their master's bidding," Lupin had said. "However, if the master leaves any loopholes, the demon will find a way to worm out of what he has to do. He serves only himself whenever possible. If you ever find yourself in the company of a demon, use this to your advantage."

Hermione had made a list of famous demons and made Harry and Ron memorize them insisting it would come in useful. Harry was now very thankful that he had an overachieving friend like Hermione.

Voldemort would not have left any loopholes, but perhaps if he stumbled upon the name of the demon, he would gain power over him. Harry thought of a sentence that would have no ambiguity about it and would force the demon to do it if he said the right name, and then he mentally went through a list.

Voldemort would choose something dark, something with an evil, cunning reputation. Maybe not something well-known, though, so he might not be on my list. An idea occurred to him.

"Do you know what it is you're guarding?" he asked the Minotaur.

The beast shrugged. "I'm not guarding anything."

"The thing that you're guarding," Harry persisted, "is an object that keeps your master immortal."

The Minotaur didn't flinch, but Harry saw its eyes widen. As long as its master was alive and didn't release him, the demon was bound in service to him.

"An eternity of service," Harry said. "That's what you're facing if this object survives."

"You're lying to me."

"I'm not."

The truth was, Harry was not, and the demon could see it in his eyes.

"You're bound here as long as your master is alive. But I have the power to free you."

"No you don't. Only my _master_—" he spoke the word derisively—"can."

"Not immediately, no. But if I have this object that you guard, I will kill him altogether, and you will be set free."

"I can't give it to you anyway." The Minotaur bared its teeth in a scowl. "It was specifically forbidden."

"Not if I learn your name," Harry corrected slyly.

The minotaur switched into a boy again, a little Egyptian fellow wearing only a loincloth. He looked at Harry suspiciously. "I think you're lying."

"I'm not. Do you know who your master is?"

"Sure," the boy said nonchalantly, flicking an imaginary speck of dust from his fingernail. "Tall, pasty fellow with black hair."

"I can tell you his name, his true birth name," Harry said slowly. "Then you can wreak your revenge. You'll have all power over him if I tell you. I'll tell you his name _and_ I'll destroy him, in exchange for one thing."

"You want my name." The demon said slowly.

"Yes."

"Look at me," he scowled. "I'm supposed to be eating you alive, and here I am negotiating like a diplomat."

"Is it a deal?"

"I was also forbidden to tell you my name."

"Can you write it?"

A devilish grin spread over his face. Harry took that to mean 'yes.'

"It's a deal, mushworm," the demon said. "Except that I don't believe I can trust you."

"Of course you don't. Is there anything I can do to make you believe you can?"

"Make the Unbreakable Vow."

The breath caught in Harry's throat. "I'd have to come into your pentacle, and we'd need a third person anyway. I'm not stepping out my pentacle, mostly because you'll probably eat me. I can't trust you either, you realize."

The Egyptian boy scratched his chin. "We can't just trust each other?"

"I'll just trust you if you'll just trust me."

"Do you have a parchment and quill?"

"Not yet," he said, "but I can get them."

Harry had learned how to perform this spell just two weeks previously; he waved his hand and thought _parchment and quills_ and they appeared before him. It only worked with trivial things, not with anything like people or money or anything, but it was handy for candles or paper or tablecloths.

Harry ripped the parchment in half and tossed it and one of the quills into the demon's pentacle. "Write your name on it, and I'll summon your paper at the same time you summon mine. I'll write your master's name."

On the paper, Harry scrawled the words Tom Marvolo Riddle. He wadded his paper up. The demon wrote his name, surveyed it a moment, then crumpled it as well. "Alright then, on three. One… two… three."

They tossed the papers into each other's pentacles. Harry picked the parchment up and flattened it out. Amazingly enough, the demon hadn't cheated him. On the faded yellow in black ink was written the name…

Bartimaeus.

Harry cleared his throat. "Bartimaeus," he said loudly, "I command you to relinquish the object you were ordered to guard into my pentacle."

The demon looked physically torn. Harry could see what he wanted to do, but the magic still bound him to Voldemort's command; that he never give up this object.

"You ask me to do something that will injure me badly," the demon said reproachfully.

"Which is worse, this or a lifetime spent on earth, trapped in a physical body?"

With a sudden roar, the demon turned into a whirling ball of wind. Up, up, up it flew, high over Harry's head. The noise was deafening. Harry clapped his hands over his ears and tried to keep his eyes open against the blasting gale.

Then the wind was gone, the sound had ceased, and a small, golden cup clattered to the table at Harry's feet.

A/N: Wow. Ten whole pages. R&R, including you, SkyHighFan. You seem to read every chapter, and yet you never review. I hate that :-D


	29. Regulus Black

So as I'm writing this, I still haven't updated Chapter 28. Fanfiction won't let me. Don't ask me why. But at least I'm on schedule.

Chapter 29

Regulus Black

Viktor had started searching for him frantically after about twenty minutes had passed and Harry didn't return from the "bathroom." It was nine o' clock when Harry emerged from the passageway behind the tapestry, and half the school was in an uproar. When he reappeared and everything finally calmed down, Viktor asked where he had been.

He told the truth; he had found the original meeting place of Durmstrang's founders. He just didn't tell the _whole_ truth. He said nothing of the small, golden chalice deep in his pocket, pressing against his leg. His hand was clutched around it, unwilling to relinquish its hold on this thing, one of several that had half-occupied his thoughts for an entire year.

One step closer.

As Harry lay in bed that night, the goblet still in his pocket, he reached out again and again for the magic in the air, in the stone, in the wood of his bed. It was faint, not nearly as potent as it had been on the path to the Horcrux, but it was there. He tried using it as he would his Inner Sanctum—to perform a spell like silently summoning his glasses from his bedside table—but he couldn't seem to do it. He felt the power, but he could not harness it, and he could not use it. It was beyond his ability to control.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

"Mr. Potter."

Harry glanced towards the source of the voice. He was sitting in the immense library, far bigger than the one at Hogwarts. It was the last night of his stay at Durmstrang, and he, Viktor, and Polikoff were together trying to get the hang of using the magic of their surroundings, but none was having much success.

There was a girl standing beside him, looking rather nervous. "The headmaster wishes to see you, sir. He's waiting in his office."

Harry glanced at Krum, then stood up and followed the girl out. "Did he say why?" he asked the girl.

She shook her head.

"Thank you. I'll be back," he said to Viktor, "unless Holinskii intends to murder me when I walk in."

The girl, who looked frightened, turned away, and Harry found himself trying to find his way through the corridors. After taking two wrong turns and having to ask directions from a surly-looking boy, he finally climbed the spiral staircase that led to the headmaster's office.

"Come in," was the response to his knock.

Once again, Harry was struck with how familiar the voice sounded, but he couldn't quite place it. He pushed the door open and waited respectfully in the doorway.

"Please, sit down," Holinskii invited, not looking up from something he was writing. A long roll of parchment dropped off the desk with a few feet sitting on the floor, all covered in a neat, small handwriting. Harry sat down in one of the chairs opposite his desk.

He finished his sentence, capped his ink bottle, and looked up to face Harry.

"So," he began, "rumor has it that you discovered the original meeting place of the founders."

"So I've heard."

"Is it true?"

"I believe it to be," Harry answered.

Holinskii leaned forward, a strange glint in his eyes. "I know it to be."

Harry looked at him strangely. "You do."

"Indeed. I've been down there myself."

"How often?"

He shrugged. "Once every few months. I go in an attempt to retrieve something."

Harry felt his hand in his pocket tighten around the goblet that he had kept there since he found it.

"I take it you found the Horcrux?"

Harry looked at him incredulously. "How did you…"

Holinskii laughed. "How did I know? Ever since I first walked past that tapestry, I felt the magic aura of the Horcrux in the air. It took me a year to figure out how to open the wall, but when I managed it, I was sure it was down there. But there was always something guarding it."

"The demon."

"Indeed. I did research. Read every book I could find. But I found nothing on this particular djinni, nothing that would give me power over him. As often as I went down there, I could never defeat him."

"Is he that powerful?"

"I think that Lord Voldemort bestowed him powers that were beyond his normal scope of things. He had greater power because of something the Dark Lord did, not because of any merits of his own. In essence, I was confronting a rather weaker Voldemort. Him I could never defeat.

"And yet you, a man—hardly a man—of seventeen, with six years of schooling, you waltz in here and in half a week, you've opened the stone, found a way to defeat the demon, and retrieved the thing I've worked for years to get."

"I didn't defeat him," Harry said. "I negotiated with him."

Holinskii looked surprised, and then began to nod slowly. "What were the loopholes?"

"Voldemort hadn't forbidden him to write his name, and I promised him Voldemort's own birth name and an oath that I would destroy him if I could have what he guarded."

"What if Voldemort isn't destroyed? What if he continues to live and take over the world? The djinni will have every power over you because you did not honor your oath."

"If Voldemort doesn't die, then I will."

"You seem certain."

Harry didn't answer. He was certain.

"You are an extraordinary being, Harry Potter."

Again, Harry remained silent.

"What was it?" Holinskii asked softly.

Harry hesitated a moment. He didn't know if this man could be trusted. But how could telling him was harm anything? With a glance at Holinskii, he withdrew the goblet from his pocket. "It belonged to Helga Hufflepuff."

Holinskii stood slowly and limped over to him, kneeling in front of him. He reached out his left hand to hold it.

But as he did, his robe slid down his left arm and Harry caught a glimpse of something that made him snatch back the goblet, jump away from Holinskii, and withdraw his wand.

"You're a… you're a Death Eater," he said, breathing hard. His wand was pointed firmly at Holinskii, and he drew up his Inner Sanctum to have his magic ready.

"I'm not," Holinskii said wearily, getting to his feet.

"Don't move," Harry snarled. He knew he should not have been surprised. This was a school of the Dark Arts. The previous headmaster had been a Death Eater. What had made him think he could trust this one?

Holinskii stopped. "You know what?" he asked after a moment. "I wouldn't be afraid of any other seventeen-year-old, even if he were as powerful as you. No other seventeen-year-old would actually have the courage to hurt me."

"Be quiet," Harry said. He didn't know what to do. Holinskii was a powerful enough wizard to counter anything except perhaps very harmful spells, and Harry was not in agreement with him; he didn't believe he had the courage to do anything if Holinskii decided to charge him. Nothing that would hurt Holinskii, at least.

"Harry, listen to me."

"No," Harry said. "You're a Death Eater. You have the Dark Mark. I can't trust you."

"I only ask you to listen. Here," he took his wand out of his robes and tossed it to the floor at Harry's feet. He looked at Harry shrewdly, then sat down. "Sit down, please, Harry, it's a long story."

"I'll stand," he said, keeping his wand trained on Holinskii.

"As you please." His leg seemed to be hurting him more than before. He sighed. "Where to begin?"

"The beginning would be a good place."

Taking a deep breath, Holinskii began.

"My parents were very loyal purebloods, and they raised my brother and I to be that way. My brother read a lot, and he realized very early the stupidity of the pureblood, half-blood, and Muggle-born nonsense. He distanced himself from me and my parents, and he left home altogether when he was sixteen. I, however, was not as smart as he. I didn't see through their brainwashing prejudice. I hated anyone who was not pureblooded, and I was intent upon wiping them out. I'm British by birth, as I'm sure you can tell by my lack of a Russian accent, and I went to Hogwarts. As soon as I finished school, I joined up with Lord Voldemort's Death Eaters."

"See?" Harry demanded.

"Of course that's true," Holinskii said scathingly. "I have the Mark, don't I? Let me continue. No one ever suspected how far in I got. My brother eventually found out that I was a Death Eater, but he thought that I was a pawn, a trivial player that Voldemort used for his own ends. He was more or less right; we were all chess pieces, and Voldemort was the chess master. He threw us away when it suited him. There could be no one his equal, no one his confidant. However, there were some of us more powerful than others. Some of us were rooks, bishops, even queens. I was… a knight, per se. Higher than most, not as high as some. But he trusted me with a special assignment."

His eyes clouded over with a distant, old ache, and he suddenly looked fifty instead of thirty-five. "In December about a year before you were born, I went to the house of a man by the name of Gideon Prewett. He was a member of the Order of the Phoenix. I got past the defenses he had laid on his house—everyone had defenses back when Voldemort was in power before—and I entered. At wand point, I told him that he had to swear allegiance to the Death Eaters or die, long and slowly. I'll never forget what he said in those final moments of his life.

"'You don't know what your master is, do you? He's the epitome of evil, the subject of loathing. Do you know what he's done? He's ripped his soul in pieces so that he would be immortal, putting them away so that they might never be found. His body may live on forever, but no matter what point you're arguing from, tearing your soul apart is destroying it. He's decimated his self worth as a _human being._ He's not human, Lord Voldemort. Unless you realize that and get yourself out, he's going to bring you down with him.'"

Harry suddenly realized where he had heard the name Gideon Prewett. Mad-Eye Moody had pointed him out in a picture of the first Order of the Phoenix. He had been blown to bits…

He looked at Holinskii. His face was the face of a man who could barely live with himself, who hated himself for some crime that he could not change. "I killed him then," he said softly, "after I tortured him. His brother came and… and I killed him, too."

Harry took a step backward, horrified and appalled, but feeling a deep pity for this man. No one had every looked like he suffered more for the guilt of his actions. His head was hung in shame, and when he spoke, it was in a quiet, hoarse voice. "Then I realized what I had done. As much as I hated half-bloods and Muggle-borns, I had never meant to kill. Not really. And so I ran.

"Voldemort's pawns chased me halfway over the world. I went to America, seeking refuge, but they found me. I went to Australia, Greece, Egypt, and finally I found myself in Russia, taken in to Durmstrang by a small, kind boy who had left the school for a solitary walk. The headmaster—it wasn't Igor Karkaroff back then—let me in, let me stay and learn, and, eventually, teach. When he died, Karkaroff got the job—I would think Karkaroff killed him on Voldemort's orders, except that he was too much of a coward—and then when Karkaroff ran after the Triwizard Tournament, I became headmaster. I was better at the Dark Arts than anyone, see, and that's what's prized around here…. If only they knew how much I despise them.

"I remembered, vividly, horribly, what Gideon had said, and so I began researching. What did he mean by tearing his soul? The only answer I could find was that of Horcruxes. How Gideon came to know about them, I can only guess, but now I knew too, and it made perfect sense. And when I walked past that wall, I knew there was such a powerful object in there that it had to be either a Horcrux of the very center of magic itself, because I'd never felt such power except around one person."

"Who?" Harry prompted softly.

"Albus Dumbledore."

Harry sat down, the weight of what he was hearing crashing down on his shoulders. "Your name's not really Holinskii, is it?"

He smiled slightly. "Of course not. My most recent Russian ancestor died in about 1121 AD."

"Then who are you?" Harry knew, knew somehow, that he had seen this man before. Or maybe not this man, but at least someone very like him. "What's your name?"

He raised his head slightly.

"Regulus Black."


	30. Departure

Sorry, I know it's late _again,_ but I have another good excuse—my lap top isn't working right. Actually, the computer is working fine, but the charger isn't. So my lap top is out of batteries and I have no way to charge it. So I've written this during the only time I have computer access, namely, for about fifteen minutes before school starts every morning. And yes, we do have a home computer that I could use except that I have three little brothers who are constantly on it so I never get a chance.

Chapter 30

Departure

Harry staggered back as though hit by a physical force. He felt his thoughts whirling, rushing, tumbling inside his head, screaming at him from all different directions.

Regulus Black.

Now he knew where he had seen that face, where he had heard that voice. They were almost identical to those of his older brother. Regulus' face was fuller, his build stockier, his hair shorter, but the resemblance was remarkable. Harry couldn't fathom how he had missed it before now.

The man's brow creased, and then he said quietly, "You know my name."

Harry leaned against the wall behind him for support. "Yes," he said hoarsely.

An unwanted flood of memories had washed over him, memories that he had not allowed to surface for a year and a half. He had tried not to think about it, but now all the walls he had painstakingly built to block it in were crumbling down in the work of just a few moments. He felt the tears burning behind his eyes, but he would not let them fall.

"How?"

The question was a simple one, but to Harry, the answer would require far more than just a short word. The easiest way, he decided, was:

"I knew your brother."

Regulus looked shocked, and then the blood began to drain out of his face as the implications of the statement hit him. "You... _knew_ my brother?" he said hesitantly.

Harry realized just what he had said. _Knew_ in the past tense, _knew_ as in 'no longer know.'

"Where is he?" Regulus asked softly.

Harry sat down. "Sirius is dead," he said shortly. It pierced him to say them, as though hearing the words aloud, from his own lips drove the pain deeper, as though he were hearing them for the first time.

Regulus looked stunned, and for a moment his expression was frozen in disbelief, and then he sank into his chair and put his head in his hands.

"How?" he asked after a moment.

There were no tears, no sobs, no grief-wracked shudders, but his voice betrayed an anguish that went deeper than physical manifestations. It was a quiet, accepting agony that, for a moment, made Harry forget his self pity and see Sirius' brother, the brother whom Sirius had believed to be among the scum of the earth.

Slowly, haltingly, Harry explained his time with Sirius from the day he had first seen him on the Dursley's brand new television set, branded as a ;murderer who had decimated thirteen people. His third year, the truth about Sirius, Sirius' long captivity in his old, hated home, and finally, the night the Order of the Phoenix had met the Death Eaters in battle.

"You loved him," Regulus said quietly after he had finished his tale. "That meant more to him than anything in the world."

"You don't know," Harry said bitterly, turning away. "The last time you saw him was when he ran away from home at sixteen, and probably in the papers when he escaped from Azkaban."

He regretted his words almost as soon as they tumbled from his lips. Regulus' face blanched, and he hung his head. "I knew him before that," he said softly. "The brother I knew didn't seem to have changed much from your account of him."

Harry, though he would have taken back his words had he been able, struggled to understand Regulus' grief. Was it possible for him to truly love and mourn a man whom he had not seen in two decades, whose character was so utterly foreign to him?

As though reading his mind, Regulus stood and limped slowly to the window. "I do not grieve," he said quietly, "so much for his death. He was a good man who lived a good life, and death is just another path, one that we all must take. The gray-rain curtain of this world rolls back, and all turns to silver glass… I grieve that I did not know him, and that he did not know me. That we each believed the other a Death Eater."

Harry was silent.

"I idolized him when I was little. I wanted nothing more than his approval, until I realized that he was not like my parents and I. Then I told myself I couldn't have cared less.

"But I did. I cared more than I ever admitted to myself. My conscience spoke in his voice when it was finally loud enough to convince me that what I was doing was wrong, and even when I saw in the papers that they were on the lookout for missing mass murderer Sirius Black, half of me didn't believe it. My heart didn't believe it."

"Professor Black…" Harry began.

"Regulus."

"The night Professor Dumbledore died, he and I went to retrieve a Horcrux. He gave his strength, his sanity—his life—to obtain it, but when it was all over, it wasn't the Horcrux at all."

"You found my locket."

Harry nodded. "Where is the real one?"

Regulus sat down slowly, as though a great weight had fallen on his shoulders. "I found it while the Death Eaters were chasing me, and I banished it to the one place I could think of that was safe."

"Where?"

"Number 12, Grimauld Place."

Harry blanched. He _hated _that house, especially now with the memory of Sirius lingering over his head.

"As far as I know, it's still there," Regulus continued. "Unless you've been throwing that sort of thing away."

The color drained out of Harry's face. He had spent the entire summer after his fourth year helping Mrs. Weasley and Sirius do exactly that.

"I have to go," he said, making up his mind and stepping towards the door. "I have to go and find it."

He paused momentarily and turned around to look at Regulus. "I'm sorry," he said, and without another word, he left.

In twenty minutes, his stuff was packed and he had found Viktor. "I have to leave early. I'm going tonight."

"Why?" Viktor asked, looking disconcerted. "Has something bad happened?"

Harry shook his head. "They need me back," was all he said.

Viktor walked him out to the lake. "I've really enjoyed being here," Harry told him in almost complete honesty. "I'm sorry to have to go."

Viktor shook his head. "Don't be sorry. It was nice to have you here."

They were just formalities, but Harry felt something deeper in them, as though the words that were _supposed_ to pass Viktor's lips were also what he _wanted_ to pass his lips. That level of sincerity was rare.

"Thank you," Harry said earnestly, extending his hand. "It's been great."

Viktor grasped his fingers in his own vice-like grip and said, in a soft voice, "Good luck, Harry Potter."


	31. One More Left

Yes! Another chapter! Late _again,_ I know, but I'm doing far better than I used to be. This was, again, because my new charger for my laptop only arrived yesterday and I've been rather busy, what with babysitting and church meetings that have taken all day… and AP World History tests to study for…

Chapter 31

One More Left

"You're back!"

Hermione met him with a practical squeal and a very enthusiastic hug. Harry patted her awkwardly on the back. "Hi, Hermione."

Ron's greeting was a slap on the back. "Hey mate." Then, lowering his voice to avoid being overheard by the people in the common room around them, he asked, "Did you find it?"

Harry nodded slightly. "I need to find Kreacher. Come with me."

They climbed out of the portrait hole. The corridors were deserted—it was after ten o' clock—and on their way to the kitchen, Harry explained everything that had happened. When he revealed that Durmstrang's headmaster was actually Regulus Black, both Ron and Hermione stopped short.

"Regulus Black?" Ron repeated disbelievingly.

Harry nodded. They fell silent as they passed Filch, who threw them a dirty look (he had never quiet gotten over Harry's authority to be out after hours and give his students to be as well), and resumed their conversation when he was well out of hearing range.

"Regulus Black, Harry? Really?"

"Do you think I would _lie_ to you?" he asked in mock-indignation.

When he explained that Regulus had said that the locket was at Grimauld Place, Hermione inquired with a furrowed brow, "Then why are you trying to find Kreacher?"

"I don't think it's still there. We threw out everything we could, remember? But who knows how much of it Kreacher stole? If he doesn't have it, we'll take a trip to Grimauld Place to see if we can find it. Otherwise…"

He didn't have to finish his sentence. Otherwise they could dig through every landfill in Europe and they would probably never find it.

They arrived in front of a large painting of a fruit bowl. Hermione reached out and stroked the pear. It squirmed and giggled, and then it turned into a handle. Harry grasped it and entered the kitchen.

House elves everywhere began bowing and squeaking, "May we get you anything, sirs and miss?"

Ron was about to say something, but Harry cut him off. "We're looking for the elf Kreacher. I'm his master."

Their beaming faces fell slightly. "He's in the washroom, sir. Follow Skala, please."

Assuming that this elf was Skala, he followed her around a few corners and into a room stacked high with plates, goblets, and utinsels, both clean and dirty. Five, large, shallow wash basins lined the walls, and three house elves stood at each, up to their elbows in suds and water. Most of them bowed beamingly, but Harry made his way to the one who didn't, one who had white hair sticking out of his ears and who was muttering to himself.

"Kreacher," Harry said, "Stay here."

He had planned this out thoroughly. Kreacher could not be allowed to remain silent or vanish upon seeing his master. He had to be very clear in his commands.

Kreacher had whirled around and was glaring at him.

"Kreacher, I want you to tell me, right now and very plainly, if you ever took a golden locket from Grimauld Place."

Haltingly, hatred etched very clearly on his face, the house elf nodded.

"Tell me now and clearly, do you still have it?"

Again, a reluctant nod.

"Alright, then. When I tell you to, I want you to leave here and retrieve the locket. Go and return promptly, don't take any detours, and tell no one of what you are doing. Is that clear?"

Grudgingly, Kreacher hissed, "Yes, _master_."

"Good. Go."

The house elf vanished with a loud crack.

For five minutes, Harry and Ron stood there while Hermione pitched in and helped the house elves with the dishes, despite their vehement protests. Just as Harry was beginning to wonder what loophole he had accidentally left in his orders, Kreacher reappeared with another loud popping noise. Dangling from his fist was an ornate golden locket with a serpent in the shape of an S embossed on the front.

"Give it to me," Harry commanded.

It dropped into his hand, and instantly, Harry knew that this was it. It's a trick, his mind told him; how could it be so easy?

It's not easy, Harry thought bitterly. Dumbledore paid for this with his life.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

Harry slipped away from breakfast early the next morning and made his way to the head's office. He nervously said the password and ascended the spiral staircase, fervently hoping that Professor McGonagall would not decide to come up earlier than normal.

With an apprehensive glance around, he entered the circular old office and half-expected to see Dumbledore sitting at the familiar desk. Instead, he saw the late headmaster's portrait hanging on the wall behind it, still asleep.

Harry climbed the ladder to the highest bookshelf and pulled on the book by Nicholas Flamel. The bookshelf slid out and to the side, revealing the secret alcove that Dumbledore's portrait had shown him on the Sunday he had arrived at Hogwarts.

He dug into his pocket for the three objects he had brought to store here. They sat in his hands, like little relics of the past.

Relics of evil, he reminded himself.

In reverence for their antiquity and in disgust for what they housed, he laid them gently beside the long staff that was already there.

I've found them all, he thought suddenly, all but him himself. Dumbledore found the ring and the diary, and he destroyed those, and he found the staff but didn't get a chance to do away with it. I've found the timeturner, the cup, and the locket.

His body is the only one left.

He was shaking as he climbed down. He knew he had to destroy the Horcruxes, and the sooner the better. But he remembered the words of the encyclopedia at the Ministry's library that summer, what it had said about venturing to the world of Swift Light… _those who venture there are never quite the same._

He was scared. It was a strange feeling because it didn't happen very often, but he was scared. He remembered Dumbledore's hand and briefly wondered whether it had been the spell Propero Luminarium that had done it. Dumbledore had never told him what had really happened…

Lost in thought, he did not realize that the door was opening and that someone was coming in until it was too late. Cursing, he shoved the book back into place, and as the secret alcove was sliding shut, he jumped down from off the ladder.

When Professor McGonagall entered her office, she found Harry Potter on the floor, holding his ankle in a pained grimace and looking sheepishly up at her. Her nostrils flared sharply and her lips compressed into a sharp line. "You have a lot of explaining to do, Mr. Potter."


	32. Two Gone

Ha! Still on schedule! This might actually get done… eventually. Yay for Jarx. By the way, just so you know, chapter 30 referred to a lot of stuff that I wrote into the story forever ago, and I almost forgot about it myself, so I'd hardly expect you to remember. I just forgot to put this reminder in at the beginning of that chapter, so I'm doing it here. Anyway, chapter 10 is the chapter that describes everything I was referring to in chapter 30, just in case you were reading that chapter and finding yourself very… lost.

By the way, I don't think the email function on is working, so you won't get the alert for this, but I want you to know, I _did_ update on time.

Chapter 32

Two Gone (better chapter title suggestions are greatly appreciated…)

"I told you," Harry muttered irritably. "I was putting _them_ in the safe place that _his_ portrait showed me and _she_ came in unexpectedly and I jumped off the ladder and landed wrong and hurt my ankle. Ow!"

Ron had sat down on the end of his bed and bumped the sore joint in question. "Oh, sorry," he said sheepishly.

"What did you tell her?" Hermione asked in a mortified whisper.

"I said I wanted to talk to Dumbledore's portrait."

Hermione rolled her eyes.

"Gimme a break! I was in pain, and I had to come up with something fast. Anyway, that didn't explain what I was doing up on the ladder, so she didn't buy it, and even if she had, she wouldn't have been too happy that I was in her office without her permission. So then I told the truth—it was a secret that I promised Dumbledore I wouldn't tell anyone. She said I could come up whenever I wanted, so long as I asked her permission first. She was still livid."

Madam Pomfrey bustled towards them. "Here, Potter, drink this." She handed him a steaming glass of what looked like green algae.

He looked at it skeptically. "I think my ankle will heal just fine on its own, Madam."

"Don't be ridiculous," she snapped. "Of course it would, but this is instant. Why go limping about all week when you can walk out of here perfectly fine in half an hour?"

"Alright," Harry said, plugging his nose. "If I die, it's her fault," he muttered as she walked away.

He drained the glass, which, to his surprise, was mostly tasteless.

Hermione glanced around the hospital wing as Madam Pomfrey disappeared into her office. Its only other occupant was a third year whose hex had gone awry and given her lots of thick, black facial hair. She was unconscious.

"Look, Harry," Hermione said quietly as soon as she was sure they wouldn't be overheard, "I have a theory."

Ron moaned. "It isn't anything to do with house elves or exam scores, is it?"

"Be quiet, Ron," she snapped. "No, it's not. It's about… You-Know—Voldemort."

Harry sat up against his pillows. "I'm listening."

"I think that Voldemort has never found his Inner Sanctum. Somehow he's found a way to do very potent spells without calling on it."

"Why do you think that?" Harry asked suspiciously.

"Think about it. I've found my Sanctum, and I can't consciously use it yet, but in order to find it, I have to be at peace with myself, with my body… with my magic. Magic was never intended to do evil, Harry—man has made it that way, invented spells that were never meant to be. How can he be at peace with himself and his magic—an inherently good thing—with everything he's done? And if he can't be at peace with himself, how can he reach his Inner Sanctum?"

Harry thought a moment, and realized that he understood exactly what she meant. The feeling that he couldn't place as he found his Inner Sanctum… Hermione had put a word to it. Peace.

"Then how does he do spells, I mean, the big ones, he ones that you can only do with your Inner Sanctum?" Harry asked, confused.

"You've learned over the week to feel the magic in the air around you," Hermione said in an excited voice. "The Durmstrang professor told you that you can use that magic if you learn how to. You don't need to be at peace with anything to find it, do you? I think Voldemort uses the reserve of magic in his surroundings."

"I think that's reading a bit much into the peace you feel when you find your whatchamacallit," Ron said doubtfully.

"Your _Inner Sanctum,_ Ron," Hermione said scathingly.

"No…" Harry said slowly, "it makes sense."

Ron sighed in exasperation. "How is it that you're both so advanced and yet I can hardly even manage silent spells?"

Hermione looked at him irritably, then her face melted into a soft smile. "You'll have your day, Ron," she said quietly. "You'll have your day."

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Christmas break could not have arrived sooner for Harry. Over the last month, the amount of work he had to do to plan his lessons had escalated sharply, and his inclination to do the work had waned. He couldn't help but feel that not one of his students, if he got into a scrape with a Death Eater, would survive.

_You survived,_ a voice in his head reminded him. _You weren't as well-trained as any of them in your first year when you faced Voldemort and won. And again in your second, and again in your fifth, and, though not face to face, again in your sixth. They have a chance._

That was the only hope he harbored as he gazed around his classroom every day.

Ron had invited Harry and Hermione to the Burrow for Christmas. Hermione had declined, saying that she wanted to spend Christmas with her parents, but Harry had readily accepted. He didn't want to stay at school alone.

They Apparated from Hogsmeade, arriving midmorning on Saturday. Ron led them into the kitchen, where, after a warm embrace from Mrs. Weasley, they were offered ham sandwiches and brownies. Then they were drafted into helping put up Christmas decorations, and before the end of the day, the house looked like a strangely-shaped, lop-sided Christmas tree.

On Christmas morning, Ron threw his pillow at Harry's head. "Hey, Harry! Wake up! Presents!"

Harry sat up groggily to be confronted with a pile of wrapped gifts at the end of his bed. There were considerably more than Harry had ever received before.

He found himself unwrapping a sweater from Mrs. Weasley, a model of a Firebolt from Ron, _Hogwarts, a History _from Hermione ("I guess she's decided that now that you're a teacher, you have to read it," Ron sniggered.), and a book on potent spells from Lupin. Harry looked at the names of the senders on the rest. "They're… they're from my students," he said in bewilderment. He looked up at Ron. "Do students normally send their professors Christmas gifts?"

"Suck-ups," Ron scoffed.

After opening the rest of his presents, among which were three copies of the book _Jinxes for the Jinxed_, a package of cockroach clusters, and a box of U-No-Poo from Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, they trekked downstairs to the wonderful smell of cinnamon rolls, hot cakes, pastries, eggs, and more that Mrs. Weasley presented with pride.

Charlie was there, having flown in from Romania the night before, as were Tonks and Lupin, who had accepted Mrs. Weasley's invitation to spend Christmas with them.

Harry sat down between Ron and Bill, who, despite everything that had happened to him since August, looked abnormally chipper. Lupin sat across from him.

"How're your classes going?" Lupin asked as he passed the eggs to Ron.

Harry shrugged. "The more I teach, the more I realize how inexperienced I am. I don't think I'm qualified to teach this class, Remus."

Lupin laughed. "Have no fear, Harry, you're doing a better job than any of us could have done."

The doorbell rang. Mrs. Weasley stood up, saying, "I'll go get it," but before she was halfway out of her seat, the door had opened, and Kingsley Shacklebolt stumbled in.

Everyone gasped; Kingsley was a mess. His face was bleeding in more than one place, and his arm looked limp and broken. The gold earring had been torn out of his earlobe, and the wound was spurting blood. His hands were shaking. "Arthur," he gasped. "Arthur, it was a trap. Mad-Eye… Sturgis…"

Mr. Weasley had stood up, grabbed his wand, and taken Kingsley by the shoulders. "Are they still there?" he whispered.

Kingsley nodded painfully.

Lupin stood as well. "We have to go help them," he said urgently. He turned to Bill, who had also left his chair. "You should stay."

"No," Bill said, and there was a note of finality in his tone that left no room for argument. He looked at his mother. "Mum, contact everyone you can, tell them that it's gone wrong and that we need backup."

Mrs. Weasley was about to say something, but before she could, all three had Disapparated.

Ron, Charlie , Fred, George, Ginny, and Harry all looked at each other. After a moment, Fred asked, "What on earth is going on?"

Mrs. Weasley looked stricken. Her face was pale and her hands shook as she stood and crossed to Kingsley, who was leaning against the wall, his face contorted in pain. "Ron," she said fretfully, "there's a poultice in the pantry…"

Ron disappeared and returned with a jar of bright red liquid. Mrs. Weasley busied herself helping Kingsley sit in a chair in the next room, alternately dabbing his wounds with the poultice and doing something with her wand that seemed to help.

Tonks, after cleaning up the blood in the entryway, returned to the kitchen, looking rather disgruntled. Harry knew why; she did not like being left behind. As she sat down, she was bombarded with questions.

"Where'd they go?"

"What was Kingsley talking about?"

"What happened?"

"What went wrong?"

"Be quiet!" Tonks yelled as the tumult of questions threatened to exceed the decibel level of a jet engine. She took a few deep breaths, stood up, and began pacing.

"Bill was kidnapped and held ransom for a certain map," she began quietly. "Supposedly, it's a map of all seven Pyramids of Furmat. It took the Order a long time to figure that out, but after extensive research, they knew what the map was of, where it was, and how to get it."

"What's in the Pyramids of Furmat?" George asked.

"Supposedly, there are thousands of secrets to many lost Dark Arts. But no one has ever gotten inside. As soon as you get in, you're transported to the London Underground."

"The London Underground," Ginny repeated with a raised eyebrow.

Tonks shrugged, still pacing. "That's all I know. Anyway, the map supposedly says how to get in and how to avoid all the booby traps and hexes and what not. The Order sent Mad-Eye Moody, Sturgis Podmore, Jorden Andrews, and Kingsley to get this map before the Death Eaters did, because they obviously don't have it since that's what they wanted in exchange for Bill—"

"Wait," Harry said suddenly. "Jorden Andrews?"

"What about him?"

"He's a member of the Order?" Harry asked. "He teaches Ancient Runes at Hogwarts."

"Yes, he's a Hogwarts professor, and yes, Harry, to answer your question, he _is_ a member of the Order."

"What happened?" Ron pressed.

Tonks ran a hand through her hair distractedly. "That's all I know. Your guess is as good as mine. They left last night, and now Kingsley shows up in the kitchen, bloody and fainting, and tells us that it was a trap and everyone else is still there."

"Where's there?"

She shrugged again. "They only told the people who needed to know, for fear that we'd blab if the Death Eaters caught us and tried to torture it out of us. Apparently Remus, Bill, and your father were part of the need-to-know group." She looked disappointed.

Harry stood up. "I'm going to Grimauld Place," he said suddenly. "They have to know what's happened."

That was not the real reason he wanted to go. He wanted to be in the middle of what was happening, and he knew that he wouldn't be able to just sit in the Burrow and wait for news. However, it was a good enough reason, and without waiting for anyone to argue, Harry Disapparated.

He found himself on Grimauld Place, and thought about the address until the house ballooned up out of nowhere. He stepped over the threshold and made his way into the hallway.

The house seemed deserted. This was a strange feeling to Harry; every time he had been there, there had been others as well. However, it was not long before he heard the _cracks_ from the street that announced the arrival of more wizards, and before he had gotten halfway across the hallway, the door opened and in came Tonks, Ron, and Charlie.

"Ginny wasn't happy," Ron muttered as they made their way towards the kitchen. "Mum made her stay, and she can't Apparate anyway… Is anyone here?"

They thought it was deserted until they entered the study, where they found, seated around a small table, Elphias Doge, Hestia Jones, and a man whom Harry had not seen before. They looked up as the four of them entered.

"We have news," Tonks said before anyone else could speak, and she went on to explain what had happened. Their faces drained, and Hestia stood up. "Someone has to tell Minerva. I'll go to Hogwarts."

She Disapparated without another word, and Tonks looked at the other two. "Minerva will get word out to everyone," she said after a moment. "And besides, I don't now how to contact anyone. So I guess we can just… wait…"

She wandered out of the room, looking rather anxious, and left Harry, Ron, Charlie, Elphias, and the other man to look at each other. Charlie was the first to break the silence, going up to the man and saying, "I don't believe I know your name."

"Hoffman," the man said, "David Hoffman." He was about fifty years old, with steel-gray hair and light blue eyes. He was tall, thin, and rather sallow-looking, but he had a smile that made up for any deficiencies his complexion might have.

"He's an Unspeakable for the Ministry," Elphias wheezed.

Harry and Ron left them to talk and entered the kitchen. "We need to write to Hermione," Ron said, beginning to pace.

"If we write to her, she'll come right here. No need to ruin her Christmas as well."

"Yeah, but imagine how furious she'll be when we all arrive back at Hogwarts and all she's heard about what's happened is what's in the papers?"

"Hopefully nothing _will _be in the papers."

"Hopefully," Ron said quietly.

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It was a very long three hours before anyone came into Grimauld Place. Harry and Ron stood up, Harry accidentally knocking over his stool, as Lupin and Mr. Weasley entered the kitchen.

"Sit down," Lupin said tiredly.

"What happened?" they both demanded simultaneously.

Lupin got himself a large mug of water, and Mr. Weasley just sat there with a slightly dazed expression on his face. Lupin sat down across from them. He drew a deep breath. "Two of them died." His voice broke, and he put his head in his hands. "Sturgis was killed instantly, I think, with the Killing Curse, and Mad-Eye…" He smiled bitterly. "Good old Mad-Eye fought it out to the last."

Harry felt first shock, and then a disbelieving grief. "No," he croaked.

Mr. Weasley joined them, rubbing his temples. His eyes were red. "Yes."

"There was another one," Ron said suddenly. "Four people went."

"Jorden," Harry remembered. "How's Jorden?"

Lupin and Mr. Weasley exchanged glances. "He's in St. Mungo's," Mr. Weasley said after a moment. "Bill's with him. It doesn't look good."

A/N: I'm sorry, I know it's depressing, but I was thinking… Voldemort's back. It doesn't make sense that every member of the Order comes out unscathed from everything. Besides, I'd predetermined this moment from before I'd even started this story, so it was always going to happen. Though until today, I was going to kill Arthur instead of Sturgis, but now that the moment is here, I can't make myself do it. Wiping two well-known characters out in one fell swoop would've been downright cruel.


	33. We Will Defeat Him

I know this is late. It _was_ done three days ago, when it was supposed to be done, except I kept thinking that I was going to make it longer. Thing is, I'm not at home, so I don't have the summary I wrote out, and quite honestly, I don't exactly remember what was supposed to happen next. So I really couldn't add any more to the chapter.

Anyway, this'll be the last chapter for… a while. No guarantees, but I'd say a week and a half. We're out of town this weekend for a funeral and I'm missing school, so aside from not being home for half a week, I'll have mountains of homework awaiting me when I get back. I don't know if I'll ever get caught up. So I apologize for the break, but there's really nothing I can do about it.

Disclaimer: it all belongs to J.K. Rowling. And guess what? I'm not J.K. Rowling. News flash, I know.

Chapter 33

We Will Defeat Him

Harry looked down at the bed in grim silence. Jorden lay there, unconscious. His bloody shirt had been carefully removed, leaving his lacerated torso, arms, and chest exposed. Harry winced as a healer bent down and began rubbing a thick, goopy liquid into the cuts and Jorden stirred fitfully.

Mr. Weasley, Tonks, and Lupin were conversing urgently in the corner of the room. Harry caught only snatches of their conversation.

"…don't know what hit them…"

"How could it have been a trap?"

"…wonder if he'll be…"

"Mad-Eye and Sturgis, Remus… Both of them, dead."

"…devastating blow…"

Harry, standing between Ron and Charlie, returned his attention to the still body lying in the bed, and he remembered Jorden's face as it usually was—smiling, full of life and laughter. He sat down heavily in a chair. "What's wrong with him?" he asked a healer anxiously.

The healer raised his eyebrows in a you-cannot-_possibly_-be-that-stupid sort of look and didn't answer.

"I mean, are those wounds magical or will they heal in time?"

"They're magical," Lupin said grimly, joining them at his bedside. "We'd best leave. There's nothing we can do."

For a moment, his consoling hand rested on Harry's shoulder, and he then gave Ron a little nudge towards the door.

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"The map wasn't real. It was a myth that had the Death Eaters seeking after it ravenously, and so they kidnapped Bill for it. And they must have found out _after_ that it was a legend and set traps where it was rumored to be."

Kingsley sat in a chair with his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands. His face was wrought with pain. His wounds were healing, but that was not what weighed on him.

Professor McGonagall and Remus Lupin sat quietly on either side of him. Tears shone openly in her eyes, but Lupin gazed on in grim, stoic silence.

They all sat in a large circle of chairs in the meeting room of the Order. The room was unnaturally silent, save for the sniffling tears of a few. Harry sat between Ron and Mr. Weasley, listening to Kingsley's tale. Hermione had arrived that evening after hearing what had happened, and she sat on Ron's other side.

Kingsley fell quiet, and a grave, mournful silence filled the room for a few moments. Then, cutting through the heavy air like a knife, a hoarse voice said, "We can't send our Order on suicide missions."

It was Charlie. His face was hard and etched with a soft, anguished grief that seemed to be reflected on everyone else's countenance as well.

"It wasn't a suicide mission," Mr. Weasley said quietly. "At least, we didn't think it was."

"It turned out to be," Charlie said. "We lost two men, and for what? For a legend, a myth that we had no real verification on."

"We had verification."

"A couple of old documents," Hestia Jones sneered. "It must have been a myth invented by the Ministry centuries ago to keep an enemy—dark wizards, maybe—occupied and distracted from something."

"Elphias," Professor McGonagall said, "you're our historian. Is Hestia's theory possible?"

The aged wizard considered it a moment, and then he nodded slowly. "About the time the documents were written, England was trying to fight of the wizard Vercingetorix, a French master of the Dark Arts, quite the equivalent of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, if rather lacking in supporters. It is very possible that while organizing their resistance, the myth was invented to get Vercingetorix distracted. Likely, even, I'd say."

There was silence for a moment, and then Charlie said, "We owe each other more than that. We can't go chasing stories. Two of our number have died needlessly, and one's barely alive."

"That is the price," Lupin interjected, "for fighting Voldemort."

A murmur swept the room.

"Sturgis and Alastor knew what they were getting into. They were both part of the old Order, and they saw the horrors and atrocities that Voldemort and his supporters committed, but they didn't back down. They were _willing_ to sacrifice for what they knew was right." Lupin stood slowly and beckoned around the room. "Everyone here knew the dangers of joining the Order, knew that Lord Voldemort's supporters would be after his blood, _knew_ that someday he might be asked to give up his life."

He gazed around at them all. "And yet, you're still here, even after you've seen what can happen. That means that you _care._" He held up his hand in a clenched fist. "You _care_ about defeating Voldemort, _care_ about doing what you know is right, despite how bleak our prospects look."

"We can't beat them," someone whispered. Harry was not sure whose voice it was, but it seemed to permeate the air, cutting them all deeply.

Lupin turned towards the source of the voice. "Lord Voldemort has everything on his side," he said quietly. "He has numbers, he has strategy, he has Dark Magic, he has supporters and leverage and might that we cannot possibly imagine."

He stepped into the center of the floor, looking each person in the eyes. "But we have one thing that he does not have, one thing that he cannot take away from us, one thing that will be our triumphing factor." His eyes pierced everyone else's as he gazed into them, unflinching and powerful. "We have love."

"Voldemort does not understand love," he said softly. "Proof of that sits before us." He gestured towards Harry. "Lily died to save her son, and that unconditional love saved him. Voldemort underestimated its power, a power so ancient, so deep, so innate that he thought it inconsequential, and he paid dearly for it.

He held up his hand, spacing his index finger and his thumb an inch apart. "We were _this close_ to beating him last time. He barely escaped with his life. But this time, we are more organized. We were ready, we had the Order revived within an hour of Voldemort's return. We know his weakness. And this time _we will defeat him. _We _will_ defeat him."

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	34. Unspeakable

I'm back! Sorry for the break. I really should be studying for my AP World History test, but I love you guys so much I decided to write the chapter instead. (snorts) Hmph, who am I kidding? I'm not doing this because I care about you, I'm doing it because I don't want to study for AP World History. Anyway, on that subject, updates for the next two weeks won't be all that frequent. I have to pass this stinkin' test or my dad's going to make me pay for it, and I have a bit of a problem—I know next to nothing about world history. And I don't have eighty dollars, either.

And I have to take another break. This'll probably be the last chapter until the… eighth or so of June. After the AP test this week, I have a week and a half of school before finals, which I don't want to fail either, and I have a zillion other things going on (including that I get to go see Wicked!!! Everyone cheer for Jarx!!), and I know I'm probably not going to get the chance to update. But after that, updates will be _at least_ once every two days, if not every day. I mean, it'll be summer! I'll have my life back!

Disclaimer: mine? What ever gave you _that_ idea?

Chapter 34

Unspeakable

"Harry, come here," Hermione said eagerly after breakfast the next Sunday. They were to return to school tomorrow—the healers at St. Mungo's had found a cure, and Jorden was on the mend. Ron had gone with Lupin to visit him. Harry had anxiously visited his bedside every day that week, and only on Friday had they told him that they had found a way to seal the wounds, and they had finally seen some improvement.

Harry followed her curiously into the entryway of Grimauld Place, where they had all stayed for quick convenience to London. She did not stop there, though; she led him up three flights of stairs to the two bedrooms that were occupied by members of the Order; one belonged to Remus Lupin, and the other was now the residence of David Hoffman, the new Unspeakable who worked for the Order, the one they had been introduced to the day Sturgis and Moody had died. Hermione knocked on the latter.

"Come in," said a voice from inside.

Hermione opened the door and stepped inside. The man, who was sitting at a small desk in the corner, turned around, and his face lit up upon seeing her. "Ah, Hermione, how are you?"

"Excellent," she said. "And you?"

Harry was looking from one to the other, baffled. "How d'you…?"

Hoffman grinned his bright smile. "I take it you didn't know that your companion had befriended me."

Harry glanced at Hermione. "She… no, actually, she didn't inform me."

The older man laughed. "Come in, come in." He beckoned towards his neatly-made bed, making a face. Harry, feeling slightly awkward at being invited into the bedroom of a fifty-year-old man, sat down. "Sorry there're no chairs in here. Anyway, it didn't take me long to notice that she had a natural affinity for books, and that intrigued me because there aren't many young people nowadays who read for pure enjoyment. So I sat down next to her and she enthralled me with an intellectually stunning conversation."

Harry, grinning slightly at his blushing friend, said, "Hermione will be Hermione, Mr. Hoffman."

He scowled. "Please, call me David."

Harry found that he liked this man, even though he had only known him for a grand total of about six days, and hadn't even talked to him on five of them.

"Did you come in here for something in particular, Hermione, or did you just want to talk?"

Harry new something was up when she didn't answer right away. He glanced at her, and noticed that she was wringing her hands. She was nervous. "Actually," she said apprehensively, "I have a question to ask you."

Hoffman seemed to catch her mood, and he looked at her suspiciously. "Go ahead."

"Are you really loyal the Order?"

He looked surprised at that. "I promised my fidelity when Minerva swore me in. I am a man of my word."

"Would you do anything within your power to stop Voldemort and his followers?"

His face fell. "You're going to ask me to do something that I'm not going to want to do, aren't you, my young friend?"

She nodded, looking rather miserable. "I would never ask you if I didn't think it to be of the utmost importance."

He sighed. "What is it?"

"Well…" she seemed to make up her mind, as though she had just decided that she was really going to ask whatever it was of him. "You're an Unspeakable for the Ministry of Magic. I _know_ you're not allowed to tell anyone what goes on inside the Department of Mysteries, and I _know_ I'm asking you to put your reputation, your job, even your career on the line for this. But someone's life is on the line here. I need you to tell me about something. Will you?"

Harry had a funny feeling in the pit of his stomach.

Hoffman gazed at her with a penetrating stare. "Hermione," he said slowly, choosing his words carefully, "I don't mean this to be insulting or demeaning, but… you're still a kid. You're barely eighteen, and while you're smart, you can't possibly be so high in the ranks of the Order as to be able to… well, let me put it this way. If Minerva McGonagall or Remus Lupin were to ask this of me, I would probably tell them all they wanted to know. However, I cannot divulge information unless it's on the orders of… of people who know what they're doing."

He said it gently, as though trying not to hurt Hermione, but from what Harry could tell, his friend was not hurt in the least. In fact, there was a strange glint in her eye as she said, "Excuse me for a moment, please, David. I'll be back shortly."

She Disapparated. There were several moments of awkward silence, and Hoffman shifted uncomfortably. "Erm… thank you for allowing me to stay here," he said, gazing around the room. "I realize that, even though these are the headquarters of the Order, it's your house. I know you probably weren't even informed that I was living here because you've turned it over to the care of the Order, but… well, it's nice of you not to reject me outright."

Harry was about to reply that he was welcome any time, seeing as it did not exactly affect him, when Hermione reappeared, this time entering through the door, a slightly harassed-looking Professor McGonagall in tow. Hermione looked triumphantly at Hoffman. "Professor McGonagall will vouch for my need to know the information that I ask."

The witch in question looked tiredly at Hoffman before sighing and saying heavily, "I know it's hard to accept, David, but… they had Albus' trust before he died, and they were privy to information he did not think it wise to share with the rest of us." She shot a rather exasperated look at Harry. "He swore them to secrecy over the matter as well. But I assure you that whatever it is they have to do, it is of top priority for the Order. I ask you to give them whatever they may need as you would to me. Can you do this?"

Hoffman looked from Harry to Professor McGonagall to Hermione and then back to Professor McGonagall. He sighed. "I can, Minerva. I'm sorry for the disturbance."

The stern witch began to leave the room, but paused momentarily, looking back. "I trust them, David," she said quietly. And then she was gone.

Harry could only gaze after her. From Minerva McGonagall, a declaration of trust was one of the highest compliments.

A sigh escaped Hoffman's lips. "What is it you two want to know?" He looked instinctively at Harry rather than Hermione. He, however, was just as lost as the other man, and he manifested this with a shrug.

Indeed, at Hermione's next words, his stomach did a flip and his mouth went dry.

"I need you to tell me everything you know about the black veil on a stone dais in the Department of Mysteries."

Hoffman involuntarily knocked over his inkbottle. "You… you what?" he stuttered.

"The veil," Hermione repeated patiently. "The black one."

Hoffman, who had half stood upon hearing this, sank back into his chair in despair. Harry could see the conflict raging in his mind reflected in his well-worn face. He was having to choose between two evils: telling what he had sworn not to and not giving the Order the information it needed. "Of all things," he muttered, "you ask _this_ of me…"

"Please, David," Hermione pleaded. "I knew before I asked what struggle you would have to face, and that should speak of the importance of this matter."

Running a hand through his steel-gray hair, Hoffman muttered, hesitantly, tremulously, "I'll tell you."

"The Veil in the Department of Mysteries is the most complex, most secret, and most _if-you-tell-you'll-be-fired-in-three-seconds-and-your-memory-will-be-completely-obliviated _work in the entire wizarding world. It holds frightening prospects, terrifying ones, and we can't make very much progress on it because the only testing we can do is to go _through_ it, and the three people who have ever done that never actually came _back._

"It took centuries to make it. I don't even know how it was done. Many, many complex spells, theories, and experiments went into making it possible. And when it had finally happened, there was nothing we could do with it.

"We had found—or made—a doorway into the Realm of the Dead."

Harry inhaled sharply, but did not interrupt.

"Well," Hoffman corrected himself, "we don't _really_ know that's what it is. We assume it is, from the limited testing we've been able to do. There are…" he ran his hand through his hair, getting up and beginning to pace, "_things_, spirits on the other side of that Veil. You can hear them whispering when you get close enough." He shuddered involuntarily. "It is an eerie, terrifying feeling. You can feel them, and they want to pull you through, and half of you wants to go because that's really where your soul belongs, not trapped here in this mortal body. But you can't, and the rest of you is horrified by the idea. It is not a pleasant feeling.

"The Veil has magical properties that exceed just about anything in this world. If you pass through it, you pass into the Realm of… the Dead." He hesitated. "Has either of you read anything concerning the theory of Dust?"

Hermione, of course, said yes. Harry had vague recollections of hearing about it, and as he concentrated, he remembered. That summer, which seemed so long ago, during their visit to the Ministry's library, he had read something about it in relation to the Evanescent Spell, Propero Luminarium. (A/N: if you don't remember what the heck this is talking about, it's in chapter ten.) …_The theory of Dust states that every living thing in the universe originated from and will eventually turn back to a stream of elementary particles, particles that, in a simple term, are consciousness_…

"The Veil has a lot to do with that. That's the World we believe we've created a door to. A World where nothing exists except a blending whirl of disconnected fragments of thoughts and fears and emotions. The World where your spirit will go when your body can no longer hold on to it." He paused. "That's how Avada Kedavra works, you know," he said softly, looking at Harry's scar. "It makes your body, just for a moment, unable to hold your spirit, and your soul takes that moment to flee. It doesn't like being trapped here."

"How… what would happen if a living person were to go through the Veil?" Harry knew the excitement in his voice was not contained, nor did he make an effort to contain it.

Hoffman shook his head. "We can only speculate. But here's my personal theory, backed on all of the research I've done. I believe that if your body were to go through with you, you would survive, but not for long because that Realm is not a physical realm. Your body could not cope with it. However, the _not for long_ is in terms of _that _World, where time could be distorted, be random, or mean absolutely nothing. We might pass a thousand years in what the blink of an eye there might feel like, or vice versa."

"Do you think there would be a way to get the person out?" Hermione asked quietly.

"I believe," he said slowly, "that his soul would not be fragmented and mixed with the rest because it would still be trapped in his body. So you would need a way to call his body back to the rift between the Worlds, where the door opens, and grab it or coax it out. I daresay the body wouldn't be at all reluctant to come, but the soul would, so it would depend on who was stronger."

"How would you do that?"

Hoffman shrugged. "You'd have to find a way of communicating with mass of consciousness in the Other World. I really don't know; it's never been tried. None of us is exactly brave enough to go see for ourselves what's beyond the Veil."

Half an hour later, when Ron returned from St. Mungo's, Hermione had drawn up a plan.

Sorry for the cliffie… and I know it's doubly mean because I won't be updating for a while, but I couldn't help it. There wasn't another good place to end it for about sixteen pages, and this is already five long. You didn't want a twenty-one page chapter, did you?


	35. The Department of Mysteries

I know I said it would be a while before I updated, but I was just so excited to write this chapter that I couldn't stay away from my computer! Again, I should be studying for an AP test, but that seems to be taking secondary importance (_not_ a good thing, darn it) because the chapter after this one is the entire reason I started writing this fic… a year ago. Wow, has it really been a whole year? Goodness, I don't write very fast, do I?

Chapter 35

The Department of Mysteries

Harry stood in his office and gazed at their handiwork. The last time they had made this potion had been in their second year, when they were trying to prove Draco Malfoy guilty of opening the Chamber of Secrets. When they had done that, disguising themselves as Crabbe and Goyle (and Hermione, unintentionally, as a cat), Harry had felt a thrill of fear about what he had been about to do.

If that had been a thrill of fear, then what he was experiencing now must be near a nervous breakdown.

Hermione sat beside the bubbling Polyjuice Potion, her hands trembling as she stirred it. "I can't believe I'm doing this."

"Hey," Ron said from by the window, gazing out at the Quidditch pitch, "it was your idea in the first place."

"You two were supposed to disagree," she snapped. "I didn't think we'd actually end up _going through_ with this."

"At least we don't have to do it in a dysfunctional girls' bathroom this time," Harry remarked. He frowned over the paper he was grading, hoping that the student had been kidding when he explained that the main purpose of hexes and jinxes was to curse his teachers. Sighing as he scrolled a large D at the top, he turned to the next one.

"Tell me again how you plan on getting hair from these people," Ron said, looking at Hermione.

"I sent them owls, saying that I'm doing a report for school and I was wondering if they could give me a description of their job," she explained patiently. "I've cast a spell on the owls that will make two or three strands of the Unspeakables' hair stick to their legs when they take off. And the letters have Fred and George's Bewitching Powder in them, which I've charmed to make it so that they'll completely forget to go to work tomorrow."

"And we'll go in instead of them."

"Exactly." Hermione inhaled deeply, and then she moaned. "We will be _so_ dead if we get caught. We'll be expelled, and we'll be lucky if we don't go to Azkaban."

"We won't get caught," Harry said reassuringly, glad that this student's main goal in life was _not_ to hex his professors. "I have complete faith in your planning and executing abilities."

"What if I've brewed the potion wrong?" she asked worriedly. "I don't want to end up a cat again… or worse."

"You brewed it right when you were in the _second year_, Hermione," Ron said exasperatedly. "Surely your potions skills haven't gotten _worse_ since then."

When Hermione continued to look nervous, Harry put aside his papers and leaned forward. "Look, Hermione, even if we do get caught, at least we'll know it was in doing the right thing."

Hermione shot him an exasperated look. "The right thing? Taking the places of two Unspeakables? Hexing them without their knowing? Going to the one place in the Ministry of Magic that is absolutely forbidden? _That's_ the right thing?"

"It's not too late to back out, you know."

"Yes it is," she said darkly. "I've already sent the owls, and they've probably already touched the Bewitching Powder, so they won't go to work tomorrow. So if we don't go, neither they nor anyone disguised as them will come."

"Who exactly did you send them to?" Ron asked.

"A woman named Matilda Frond, a man named Kurt Hutchinson, and…" her voice trailed off and she looked guiltily at the dark mess in the cauldron.

"And…?" Ron prompted.

"David Hoffman." She paused, looking as though she hated herself for using a friend like this. "I thought it would be easier to be him, seeing as we know him, but I didn't want to involve him because if we got caught and it was found out that he helped us willingly, he'd be in trouble too. So the most obvious answer was to make his cooperation… unwilling."

"Some friend you are," Ron said jokingly, but Hermione practically burst into tears.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

Harry swallowed hard as he looked at the blackish liquid in the two vials he had in his hands. They stood before the fire in his office, a pot of floo powder on the hearth beside them.

"Don't forget," Hermione said urgently as she uncorked her own vial, "we have to take the second one no more than an hour after we drink this."

They each had two vials filled with the Polyjuice Potion, one to take now, before the Apparated to the Ministry, and one to take later, if they had to be there for more than an hour. Hermione withdrew three envelopes. On each was written in her neat handwriting a name. She handed Harry the one that said _Kurt Hutchinson_ and Ron the one with David Hoffman's name. "There are two hairs from each in there. _Don't_ lose them," she implored, keeping her own with the name _Matilda Frond_.

Harry distastefully pulled out one of the short, ginger-colored hairs and dropped it into one of his vials. It turned a dark, sickening color of purple. "Alright," he said, plugging his nose as the putrid scent reached it, "Here goes."

He drained it, making a face at the horrible taste, and then he felt it. His bones changing shape, his muscles clenching and reforming, his hair changing color, his face twisting into another man's.

Five long, agonizing, tortuous seconds later, Harry was no longer Harry, but an unknown man named Kurt Hutchinson. Luckily (or, more probably, by Hermione's good planning and thinking), Hutchinson's frame was about the same size and shape as Harry's was. The plain black robes he had pulled on were slightly tight around the shoulders, but other than that, they fit perfectly."

"You have a goatee," Ron said in amazement as Hermione downed her own potion. After a lot of whimpering in pain, she became a tall, somewhat plump black woman with charming dark eyes. She had used a robe that belonged to one of the girls in her dormitory, a girl who was rather larger than she, and it fit her well as well.

Ron, who was ogling at them both, voiced the question that Harry was thinking. "How did you know what kind of robes to get?"

She blushed. "I used a form of Legilimency on the owls," she said sheepishly. "I got visuals on all the people we would be impersonating."

Ron let out a low whistle as he dropped Hoffman's hair into his vial. "Smart, that was."

"This is _Hermione_ we're talking about," Harry—or Hutchinson—reminded him dryly. "Of course it was smart."

When Ron downed his potion, Harry found himself face to face with David Hoffman. A pang of guilt hit him; he had not thought much about Hermione's culpable feeling until now, when he was face to face with the impersonation of the man who had trusted them enough to risk his career to help them. Hermione, with Frond's eyes, nearly started crying again.

"Are we ready?" Ron asked with a nervous gulp. "This feels so _weird_, he added, pinching his own cheek. "I'm _old_."

Harry was rather young, as far as he could tell. No wrinkles, no hurting knees or feelings of weariness. He sighed. "I suppose we're ready. Hermione?"

"As ready as we'll ever be. But we have to call each other by our names—Kurt, David, and Matilda. If we call each other Ron, Harry, and Hermione, someone's bound to notice, and I doubt at our age that we'll be able to pass them off as nicknames."

"Let's go," Harry said decisively. "We should stagger it, so that we don't all arrive at the Ministry at the same time. I'll go first, Hermione, you come a minute after I go, and Ron, you come a few minutes after her."

Without waiting to see if they had any objections, Harry took a pinch of the floo powder by his fireplace and tossed it into the flames. They whirred an emerald green, and he stepped in, too nervous to enjoy the pleasantly warm, tickling sensation. "The Ministry of Magic!" he said loudly and very clearly, not particularly wishing to end up somewhere like Knockturn Alley.

There was a whoosh, and Harry spun rapidly past thousands of fireplaces before finding himself stepping out into the lobby of the Ministry of Magic.

He went up to the security desk. The young wizard looked up at him. "'Ello, Kurt," he said jovially. "Wand please." Harry handed him his wand, hoping that he would not notice that it was different from Kurt Hutchinson's normal one. Unfortunately, his brow creased and he asked, "Get a new wand?"

"Erm… yeah," Harry said quickly, seizing on the excuse. "Mine broke the other day."

"Oh. This one working well for you?"

"Perfectly."

He handed it back. "Have a good day, Kurt!"

Harry nodded as he walked away, hoping his nervousness did not show on his face. He passed many other witches and wizards as they emerged from the grates, came out of the elevators, and poured through the many doors that opened into the lobby. Some people nodded to him, and he nodded back, assuming that he was supposed to know them. He made his way towards the lifts, tracing from his memory where to go.

Two memos got out of the lifts with him, but he paid them no heed. He turned a few corners, starting every time he saw someone, and finally found himself face to face with an unobtrusive, black door. He inhaled sharply; he knew this door by sight. He had been in there before, both in dreams and in reality.

He decided to wait for Ron and Hermione. The latter showed up not a minute after he did, looking at least as anxious as he felt, and Ron came a few moments later. He looked back and forth between his companions. "Shall we go in?" he asked in a hushed voice.

"I don't see why not," Harry answered. "We've done this much, haven't we?"

Harry took the initiative and turned the doorknob.

Or, at least, he tried to.

Hermione moaned. "I didn't even think of that," she whispered. "Oh, I'm so _stupid_! It's locked!"

Harry and Ron exchanged glances. If there was one word in the word that did not describe Hermione, it was 'stupid'.

"Hermione, calm down," Ron urged. She looked as though she were about to hyperventilate.

Hermione turned to the door and in a desperate attempt, whispered, "Alohamora."

Nothing happened. The door remained locked.

"We can't do it," she said in a mortified whisper. "We can't get in…"

Ron looked helpless. "I guess we'll… have to go back."

Harry was about to agree when an idea popped into his head. "Wait," he said softly, turning back towards the door. He ran his fingers along the steel. "Hang on a moment."

He reached out and felt the magic in the metal of the door. Slowly, he moved his attention from the actual door to the magically enforced lock. He felt it, though faint: the magic of the lock.

_If there's any time I need it, _he thought desperately, _it's now. Please, talk to me. _Listen_ to me. _

He felt the magic, he only had to grasp it.

_It's not coming…_With a final, desperate effort, Harry lunged with his magic, pressing his face against the lock, begging with it, pleading with it to open.

Nothing happened.

And then, there was the quiet sound of metal grating on metal.

"Harry," Ron whispered in awe, "you did it."

Hardly able to believe it himself, Harry turned the doorknob. The door swung open.

Hermione threw his arms around her neck. Harry had to be glad that there was no one else in the hall—this would have been a strange sight indeed.

When they entered, they found themselves in an all-too-familiar room. There were twelve black doors set into a circular wall. The door they had entered through swung shut behind them.

"Remember what we did last time?" Ron whispered.

"Let's do it again," Hermione and Harry agreed simultaneously.

They picked one door. It was locked, and naturally, Alohamora did not unlock it. Harry once again reached out of the magic in the metal and asked it to open. It happened a lot faster this time.

"The brain room," Ron whispered in horror.

"Nope," the other two said at the same time. "Let's go."

They retreated back into the circular room, and before they closed the door, Hermione marked it with a flaming red X. They shut it, and the walls around them began spinning faster and faster and faster, until finally coming to a halt, and the only way they knew which door they had last entered was by the glowing X on it.

They tried two other doors before finally landing on the right one. Harry found himself looking down at a stone dais, some twenty feet below where they stood. It was surrounded by what seemed to be tiers of stone benches, rising up to the door at which they stood. In the center, on the dais, stood an old crumbling archway that looked like it was about to collapse.

Only one couple was still battling, apparently unaware of the new arrival. Harry saw Sirius duck Bellatrix's jet of red light: He was laughing at her. "Come on, you can do better than that!" he yelled, his voice echoing around the cavernous room.

_The second jet of light hit him squarely in the chest._

_The laughter had not quite died from his face, but his eyes widened in shock. _

_Harry released Neville, though he was unaware of doing so. He was jumping down the steps again, pulling out his wand, as Dumbledore turned to the dais too._

_It seemed to take Sirius an age to fall. His body curved in a graceful arc as he sank backward through the ragged veil hanging from the arch…_

It was fluttering slightly…


	36. Beyond the Veil

Second update today, mostly because I just can't stay away from it.

Yes! Finally I'm here! This chapter is the entire reason I started writing this story in the first place. Other reasons have developed along the way, but after I finished the sixth book, I decided that _this_ needed to happen. I hope you enjoy reading it, because I enjoyed writing it.

Chapter 36

Beyond the Veil

The three of them stood there, wands out, Ron and Hermione very aware of the whisperings that seemed to come from the other side, and Harry completely lost in the memory of the last time he had seen this Veil.

"The spell," Hermione said after a few moments, "let's do it and get out of here."

"You're sure this will work?" Ron asked weakly.

Hermione shook her head. "I have absolutely no idea, and you know that," she said quietly. "Harry?"

"Mmm? Oh, sorry." He withdrew from his reverie, half with reluctance, half with relief.

"You know you're the one who has to do this because you're the only one who can really use your Inner Sanctum."

He nodded, taking a step forward and swallowing hard. "Walk me through it again."

"Cast the incantation into the Veil," she said, reassuringly laying a hand on his arm. "Let your magic take off with it, but _don't let it come back._ Use it to find what you're looking for."

"Will this kill me?" It was a morbid question, but he wanted to know the answer.

"Possibly," she answered, looking very apprehensive, "but I don't _think_ so."

"Well," he said, clutching his wand slightly tighter, "let's hope this isn't one of those rare times that you're wrong. Move back."

Ron and Hermione obediently stepped off the dais. Harry summoned the incantation to the tip of his tongue.

It was an Evanescent spell, one that Hermione said meant "wonder" in Latin, and was supposed to be able to do amazing, extraordinary things. Like, Harry thought, calling back the dead.

Feeling his Inner Sanctum pooling within him, he took three deep breaths, squeezed his wand, and said in the most powerful voice he could muster, "_Admiratio!_"

He saw, as if in slow motion, the spell leave the end of his wand. It struck the black Veil right in the middle and went through without seeming to move it more than its usual fluttering.

Without warning, a wind picked up in the room and a harsh but muffled screaming sound whirled around them. Harry felt his robes flapping around his legs, felt some sort of sprit, an entity that did not belong in this world trying to force him through the Veil. He planted his feet and stood firm, wand still raised, and when he felt his magic trying to recede, he blocked it, refusing to let it settle back in his body. It whipped back out, flying through the time and space of the Other World, looking, prodding, ever searching but never finding.

They stood there, breathing hard, squinting against the wind, for what seemed like hours, though Harry was sure it was no more than a minute. The force grew, trying to suck him in through the Veil, which, despite the howling gale around them, only fluttered…

And then he struck something.

His magic told him it was solid, a very different shape than he had felt before in this World. The rest of it had been intangible, just streams of magic and thought and emotion. But now his magic hit something that was _not_ part of the rest of the World.

And it was familiar.

With all the strength he could muster, he forced his magic to wrap around it, drawing it in. He felt exhausted, but he would not allow himself to collapse like his legs wanted to. He drew the form into his magic, and then he broke the barricade he had used to keep it out.

Like the water pounding, falling in torrents with the breaking of a dam, the magic came rushing back. He forced it to hold on to the thing he had grasped. It was nearly there.

Then the Other World started fighting back. It would not relinquish its grip on its captive. Harry yanked and tugged and pulled and refused to let go, but to no avail.

For a moment, it seemed as though the World would win, reclaiming the prize Harry had fought for. But then he thought of a face that he hadn't seen in a year and a half, a face that released a burst of energy that Harry poured into his struggle with the Other World.

And then it came free.

Harry stumbled back off the stone dais, stars erupting in his vision. The deafening wind that had picked up was receding, and blurred shapes moved above him, talking in low whispers, but he could not seem to move. Exhaustion claimed him, and for a moment, at least, he lost all consciousness.

When his eyes flickered open, two unfamiliar faces were leaning over him. He sat up, startling them both, and nearly vomited his breakfast all over the woman's robes, but his stomach seemed to have nothing to give. His vision focused, and after a moment, he regained his breath.

Then he remembered that Ron and Hermione had taken Polyjuice Potion, and it was really they who knelt beside him with anxious faces. Harry rubbed his eyes.

Then he noticed what was lying at his feet, halfway on the stone dais and halfway off it. A shaggy mass of black hair contrasted with a very pale, sweaty face, followed by tattered robes and a hand still gripping a wand.

"Sirius," Harry breathed.

With a surge of hope he hadn't allowed himself to feel since the end of his fifth year, he slowly, tremulously crawled towards the body. The face looked as pale as death, but shallow breaths wracked the bony frame.

"He's alive," he whispered.

Tears began streaming down his cheeks, tears of exhaustion and confusion and joy. "Sirius…"

Harry only half-remembered how they got out. It seemed that Hermione conjured a stretcher and levitated the still body onto it, and Ron supported Harry to the door and into the circular chamber. They tumbled out into the hallway, where they were about to call for help when Hermione remembered that their hour was almost up and they needed to take the other vial of Polyjuice potion. They had to help Harry with his; he was hardly strong enough to move.

Then there were wizards, calling to one another, urgent messages going out. People began congregating around the four people grouped around the open door of the Department of Mysteries: Kurt Hutchinson, Matilda Frond, David Hoffman, and… Sirius Black.

The last one, convicted mass murderer acquitted after his death, caused such a sensation that no one noticed the three Unspeakables slipping away, two of them supporting a third between them.


	37. Reunited At Last

HaHA! AP World History is over! So I'm writing a chapter to celebrate. Yay for Jarx.

So a quick survey: how many people are actually reading this? Just out of curiosity. My ego is rather wounded that I'm only getting reviews from my best friend and one other person (thanks, Piratess of Summer :-D). If you are reading this and you never review, _please_ just review this _one_ chapter so that I know how many people I'm writing for. Thanks a ton :-D

Disclaimer: …duh.

Chapter 37

Reunited At Last

"We have to go to St. Mungo's," Harry muttered as he half-stumbled, half-fell out of the fireplace and into his office. "We have to go…"

"You can't just go waltzing in there," Hermione said, emerging from the fireplace with rather more dignity than Harry had. "He was discovered ten minutes ago. How would we explain knowing that he was there? Besides, you can hardly stand."

"_And_ you still look like Kurt Hutchinson," Ron reminded him. "Wait until the Polyjuice potion wears off and we hear something from the Order."

"And go to sleep while you're waiting," Hermione said firmly, putting her hands on his shoulders and guiding him gently towards the bedroom that adjoined his office. He didn't have the energy to resist.

Forty-five minutes later, he awoke, feeling a searing pain jarring through his body. He watched in exhausted agony as his arms grew slightly shorter, his shoulders narrower, and his feet smaller. He was Harry again. And before it even registered to his brain, he was asleep once more.

"Harry."

He muttered something incoherent.

"Harry!"

He came fully awake, and he sat up, stretching. He no longer felt as though he were about to keel over from fatigue. "What is it?" he murmured, yawning.

Ron glanced towards the doorway, and Harry followed his gaze. When he saw who stood at the entrance to his bedroom, he stood hastily, straightened his robes, and pushed his hair out of his eyes. "Professor McGonagall!"

She nodded, the barest hint of a smile flickering across her lips. "I have news," she said shortly. "And it's important, so listen. Four hours ago, Unspeakables from the Ministry of Magic emerged from the Department of Ministries carrying…"

Harry waited, trying to decide what the best reaction to the "news" would be.

"Carrying Sirius Black."

He did his best to look dumbfounded, and he could tell Ron and Hermione were doing the same. Apparently, they were not quite convincing enough. Professor McGonagall narrowed her eyes suspiciously. After a moment of silence, she said in a quiet and deadly voice, "Do you have something to tell me, Potter?"

Harry shook his head. "That's… Sirius… are you serious? They found _Sirius?_"

His façade was failing miserably. Professor McGonagall sighed. "Are you going to _willingly_ tell me what role you played in this, or am I going to be compelled to _force_ it out of you?"

Harry glanced at Ron and Hermione. They both gave him looks that clearly said, _what do you want me to do?_

He took a deep breath. "The Unspeakables who emerged bearing Sirius Black on a stretcher were me, Ron, and Hermione."

"What do you mean, Potter?"

With a sigh, Harry related his tale. By the end of it, Professor McGonagall looked torn between pride, fury, and exasperation.

"W—well, Potter, I must say that I am indeed impressed that you could… could infiltrate the Ministry, do something even the Unspeakables hadn't managed to do, and escape without being caught. However, that does not change the nature of your actions! You broke into Britain's biggest wizarding institution, went to the one place _in_ that institution that you are most certainly not allowed, performed powerful spells whose repercussions you could not possibly have known, and impersonated—violated the identities—of three Unspeakables, one of whom is a friend and ally of the Order! Do you understand what you've done?"

Her nostrils were flaring, and her lips were compressed to the point of sheer whiteness. Harry knew the danger signs, but he did not heed them.

"I saved Sirius," he said quietly. "That is worth any price to me."

Professor McGonagall inhaled as though she were about to start scolding him again, but she let the breath out in a sigh. "You know, Potter," she said softly, looking at him with a strange expression in her eye, "Your father said that exact same thing to me once. After Sirius tricked Severus Snape into trying to get past the Whomping Willow, and James pulled him back, saving Sirius from expulsion and possibly Azkaban… 'I saved Sirius,' he said. 'That is worth any price to me.'"

Harry shifted uncomfortably.

"You are more like him than you know, Harry," she said after a moment, and he could have sworn he saw a tear in her eye before she turned to leave the room. "You may go to St. Mungo's tomorrow. We don't want to overt about our knowledge of him. Don't tell anybody else about your role in what's happened. Leave them to believe it was really the Unspeakables who brought him out."

And then she was gone.

"I think we might have a problem, mate," Ron said slowly after a few seconds of silence. "What happens when the Unspeakables whose places we took go back to work tomorrow, and everyone is asking them questions about what happened and how it happened? They won't know what anyone is talking about."

"I took care of it," Hermione beamed. "I put a… well, I manipulated a Protean Charm to change their memories to whatever I changed my… It's complicated, and I can hardly explain it to myself. Just trust me, when they arrive at work tomorrow, they will believe that they're the ones who did everything we did."

"I trust you," Ron and Harry said simultaneously.

There was someone waiting at the hospital that he had lived without for a year and a half, and though he wanted to see him _now,_ he saw the sense in McGonagall's warning. He had waited a year and a half; he could wait another day.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

As though in slow motion, Harry made his way towards the curtained bed on the far side of the dimly-lit room. The other two beds were empty. He could see the moonlight dancing playfully on the curtains that swayed slightly in the breeze that entered through the open window. It added to the unreal, dreamlike state Harry was already in.

There was no way their plan should have worked, and yet, right in front of them, blocked from their view by a thin curtain, was the product of their escapade.

In a half-trancelike state, Harry passed the curtain and gazed at the bed.

The fathomless gray eyes lifted from the book they were reading and glanced at Harry from under a mane of dark hair. The face first registered shock, then puzzlement, and then, finally, joy.

"Harry," he said hoarsely. He was already halfway out of bed, standing up and crossing to his godson in one stride. And then Harry found himself wrapped in a strong, unbelieving, loving embrace.

And Harry was, for the first time in a very long time, perfectly and incandescently happy.

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"I was… I was in there for a _year and a half_?" Sirius croaked disbelievingly.

He was still pale, and his eyes were slightly more sunken, and he was even bonier than he had been before. But the restless, unbelievable vitality that coursed through his body made Harry forget the sight he had seen just after bringing him back, the sight of him as pale and lifeless as a corpse. The sight of him falling through the Veil. The thought of him as dead. The healers had worked wonders in a very short time.

"It didn't feel like that," he said, settling back into his pillows.

"What did it feel like?" Harry asked softly.

A shadow of pain flickered in Sirius' eyes. "It's like when you get badly hurt," he said after a moment's consideration. "You're in agony, and each second seems to last forever because it won't stop, but you know that each second is only a second. It's as though time seems to have slowed down to a crawling pace just so that you have to suffer for longer. Time was distorted, and it felt like an eternity of agony in only a few seconds."

Harry was silent.

"It was just a black, whirling vortex," Sirius said softly. "None of my senses worked. I couldn't smell or see or hear or feel anything, but my mind was there. It was… the worst thing I've ever felt." His face lit up slightly. "But then I felt something brushing my mind, something warm and familiar and wonderful, and I tried to grasp it. It enfolded me instead and tried to take me away." He looked at Harry strangely. "It felt like… it felt like you."

Still, Harry did not reply, deep in thought and memories, both joyful and agonizing.

"I have no doubt to whom I owe my life, Harry," he said softly.

Harry looked at Sirius, still only half-believing what his eyes were telling him. "You gave your life for me," he told him quietly. "I couldn't live with myself until I risked mine for you."

Hermione, discerning as she was, had quietly dragged Ron out of the room fifteen minutes ago, leaving Harry with what she knew was much-needed time alone with his godfather. People had come and gone as the night progressed, including half of the Order, most of the Ministry, and all of the reporters in the country of Britain. The healers had denied the latter group access on Sirius' request. Those from the Ministry seemed to come only to glare at him as though he were still a mass-murderer, which, Sirius pointed out with only a small degree of bitterness, they probably believed. The members of the Order were the only ones who really seemed glad to see him.

The door to the room opened, and Harry turned around to see Tonks come in, grinning broadly. She looked as though she, like Harry, still could not believe what had happened. "Sirius," she said. Despite the fact that she had already heard the news, the shock was evident in her voice.

He smiled wanly, looking exhausted but happy nonetheless. "'Lo, Tonks."

"How are you?"

"Whatever I am, it's better than dead."

"You told me before you… er, _died,_ that being captive was worse than being dead."

He looked at her. "I did, didn't I? Well, I'm free now. My name is cleared because Pettigrew has been sighted more than once, and people no longer think that Harry is off his rocker, or that Dumbledore… was."

Sirius had not taken the news of Dumbledore's death well. It had practically devastated him, and the Healers had had to come in to administer a potion that would keep his still-weak body from collapsing.

The door opened again, and whoever it was did not enter the room fully, and the door blocked most of the man's body. Harry, however, recongnized his voice.

The newcomer seemed to see only Tonks from where he stood. "Oh, thank God," Lupin said, stepping into the room and kissing her. "I got a letter from Minerva, but she didn't say what was going on. I thought something terrible had happened to you… I came as soon as I could. What's so urgent that she would call me back from…"

His voice trailed off as Tonks pointed to the bed beside which Harry stood. Lupin turned his gaze to follow her finger. His eyes flicked to Harry and then to the form in the bed next to him.

He staggered back, as though hit by a physical force. He groped for the wall behind him for a moment, and then he seemed to regain his composure. His legs carried him swiftly to the bedside, where Sirius was getting up as well.

They faced each other, three feet apart, and the faces of both were twisted with emotion. Remus was the first to speak, and his voice sounded muffled, as though he were fighting back tears.

"I've spent a year and a half on every street in hell," he whispered.

"That's funny," Sirius, crying openly, answered. "I didn't see you there."

With a sob, Remus embraced his friend. "You're back."

A/N: Oh, crud. Now that I've brought Sirius back, I find I'm about as good at writing him as I am at writing Spanish poetry—namely, not at all. So I apologize if he seems out of character. Any suggestions would be greatly appreciated.

Oh, and sorry, Kenzi, if I scared you a bit for a moment with that Lion and Winter quote, considering what its connotation in the play is…


	38. Crumbling Foundations

This was a hard chapter to write. Very… anticlimactic. I didn't really know what to do with it. Anyhow, I wrote it. The other thing is, I wrote it with a lot on my mind, so if it doesn't make a lot of sense, tell me and I'll rewrite it. I'm starting to think that this story will be around sixty chapters long. Give or take a few. 

On to the next adventure…

Hobey-ho, let's go.

Chapter 38

Crumbling Foundations

_The Ministry of Magic has announced the amassing of an enormous army, writes Samantha Perez, _Daily Prophet_ special correspondent. In an attempt to fortify society against the devastating, fatal attacks inflicted by He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and his followers, known as Death Eaters, for the past four and a half months, the Ministry has been secretly gathering an army of wizards and witches who are competent in dueling. _

"_I hope," said the Minister of Magic, Domohov Bokonovsky in a speech before the Wizengamot on Friday, "that this move will ensure the safety of our community from the Dark Lord."_

_The "Freedom Army," as the Minister has dubbed it, is ready to offer an organized defense to any mass attacks within an hour of their perpetration. He is willing to—_

Harry stopped reading the article, glaring rather darkly at the picture of the Minister—of the Death Eater—that topped it. He tossed it onto the table. "He knew he had to do something," he said to Ron, who had been reading over his shoulder. "He has to look like he's fighting Voldemort, even though he's really helping him. Amassing the army was a move to stop people from throwing him out of office."

Hermione, who was sitting across from them, had picked up the paper and was skimming through it. "Listen to this," she said after a pause, scanning an article on the second page. "The Ministry of Magic has announced the passing of a new law, one that allows any member of the wizarding society to accuse any other of having joined the forces of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. The law requires the accused to appear before a court and present his left forearm to those assembled. If it bears the Dark Mark, the Death Eater will be arrested and tried. If the accused does not bear the Mark, a fine will be imposed upon the accuser." Hermione looked up. "The Minister of Magic would be subject to this law, just like everyone else," she said breathlessly. "We could prove him guilty of being a Death Eater."

Ron cackled. "Bet he was violently opposed to this," he said, grinning, "but it got passed anyway. We ought to tell someone."

"Yeah," Ron agreed. "This is big."

Hermione led the way out of the kitchen. "Let's find Professor McGonagall."

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Once again, Harry found himself sitting in a ring of Order members, all looking expectantly at Professor McGonagall, who, by general consensus, was the leader of the Order. She seemed to be weighing her words carefully. "This is an interesting new development," she said after a moment into the silence. "We have the opportunity to accuse Bokonovsky of being a Death Eater."

"I think there's a problem with that," Tonks said, leaning forward in her chair. "I don't think You-Know-Who would mark Bokonovsky with something that would so easily give him away. Having a Death Eater as Minister of Magic is no mean feat, and he would want to take every possible precaution against him being discovered. I don't think that he has the Dark Mark."

"What's the harm of accusing him, though?" Charlie, who was sitting between his father and Hestia Jones, interjected. "A small fine. One we could pay easily."

"It would mark us out as enemies of the Minister, and in turn, the Ministry," Lupin pointed out. "We don't want to go out in the open like that, not when the people have sided with the Ministry. Going against them would mean going against the public. Not a good idea when we're trying to gain supporters here."

"But what if he does have the Mark?" Charlie argued. "This could be our chance to expose him for what he is."

"I agree with Remus," Professor McGonagall said sternly. "It could backfire horribly, and, like Tonks, I don't believe he has the mark."

"We should take a vote," piqued Tonks. She looked from Charlie to Lupin and back again.

"All in favor of accusing the Minister of Magic of being a Death Eater, raise your hand," Professor McGonagall said tiredly.

Harry counted eighteen. Of the forty-two gathered there, that was less than half.

"Then we will not follow the proposed course of action," she said, glancing around the room. "We will wait until we have further proof."

Charlie stood suddenly, gazing around the room. "We have to be on the offensive," he said loudly. "We have to attack, before You-Know-Who gains too much power and we won't be able to stop him. If we continue as we have been—discreet, not too pushy, _afraid_—then before we work up the courage to pull our heads out of the sand, it'll be too late. We'll just be a thorn in his side. If we don't start _attacking,_ then You-Know-Who will be unstoppable."

"We don't want to appear to be enemies of the Ministry," Lupin reiterated.

"Let's come out into the open!" Charlie said. "Let's reveal who we are and for what we fight. Then will we be able to get people to join our ranks."

"That would be fatal to the Order," Mr. Weasley said suddenly. "We aren't strong enough for a move like that. Even with a web of contacts, we've really only got fifty-three members. He would crush us to dust if we came out in the open."

"We _have_ to take this opportunity!" Charlie barked. "The Ministry has _handed_ it to us; we can't just throw it away!"

"Charlie, listen to reason," Bill implored, laying a calming hand on his brother's shoulder. It didn't work. "You know that a move like that would shatter the Order."

"Charlie's right," David Hoffman said, stepping into the debate. "We have to make a bold move before You-Know-Who gets ahead of us."

"We have to—" Ron began, but Charlie cut him off.

"You stay out of this," he snapped.

"Enough."

The voice was quiet and cool, but it carried a threat in it. Charlie glared at Lupin, who stood, facing him across the circle, looking utterly, maddeningly calm. "That's enough, Charlie," he said softly. "We've taken a vote. You need to calm yourself."

Charlie glanced murderously around the room, and, after a second, sank back into his chair, glowering at the floor between his feet.

"Very well," Professor McGonagall said, looking stern, "let's adjourn, before someone says something that makes Charlie pull a wand."

There was a general chuckle as everyone stood up and made their way towards the door.

Not from Charlie.

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Harry was at St. Mungo's again, standing between two beds. The one on the right held a slowly-recovering Jorden Andrews, and the other held a much more quickly-recovering Sirius Black. He stood between them, looking apologetic.

"I have to go back to Hogwarts," he said. "I've been gone for half a week, and I've left my classes in the hands of the Astronomy professor." He blanched. "Probably wasn't the best idea, but I had something I needed to do."

Jorden put his book down and moaned. "You can hardly complain. Professor McGonagall informed me that _my_ classes were in the very capable hands of Nearly-Headless Nick, and I've been out for two weeks."

"You'll be out soon, though," Harry said confidently, and then he looked at Sirius. "and so will you."

He still could hardly grasp the fact that he was back. Sirius. Sirius was _back._

Sirius smiled slightly, standing up. "They'll let me out of here tomorrow," he grumbled. "I've felt better for a week, but apparently that's not good enough for the healers around here…"

Harry clapped him on the shoulder. "It's good to have you back, Sirius."

He Apparated from the front hall of the hospital to outside the gates of Hogwarts. He found himself gazing up at the castle, watching the memories flash by in his head. It was the third Sunday of February, and the air was crisp and chilly, but the cold nip of the air felt fresh in his lungs.

No matter where he went, Hogwarts would always be his home.

Ron and Hermione would return later. Mrs. Weasley had insisted on their staying for dinner. Harry had used the excuse that he had to prepare for the next morning's classes, but the real reason he had gone was that he wanted some time alone to _think._

He knew he had to destroy the Horcruxes. He had them all now. He had thought about throwing them into the Veil, but had decided against that. Like Sirius, the pieces of Voldemort's soul would still be trapped in the bodies that had been given to them, and, like Sirius, they could be retrieved from beyond the Veil.

So his other option was the world of Swift Light. _Propero Luminarium. _He knew that was what he had to do.

But every time he thought of it, he thought also of Dumbledore's black and withered hand. _Those who venture to the world of Swift Light are never the same again…_

Harry could not deny what he really felt. He was afraid.

It was not fear only of the pain he knew he would feel, or of the possibility of death. Those lurked over his head, but, quite frankly, those had always lurked over his head, ever since his first year at Hogwarts. In and of themselves, they were not new; they only took unfamiliar forms. What scared him was that if he were to die or to be permanently injured, there was still one more piece of Voldemort's soul out there.

One that rested in Voldemort's body.

He knew that whatever he did, he had to defeat that body first. Only then could he blast the rest of his soul into oblivion.

That led him to another frightening fact. Now that he was ready to face Voldemort, he had to start looking for him.

While half-absentmindedly reading a book in his office that night, the other half of his mind was focused on feeling the magic in the air, the stone, the things around him. He had used it to get into the Department of Mysteries, and he was sure he could use it again. Granted, it _had _been in a moment of desperation, but he felt that if he had done it once, he could again.

It took him an hour of sitting there, staring at the flames in the hearth for him to finally manage it. In frustration, he grasped for and yanked at the magic of the fire. With a deafening roar, it leaped out of the fireplace like a rocket. Harry yelped and dove beneath his desk, waiting there until it receded, leaving the front of his desk scorched and the hearthrug nothing but a pile of ashes.

"Whoops," he muttered. Despite the brush with danger, however, Harry felt a thrill of exhilaration. He had managed it.

He perfected it throughout the night, not falling asleep until one in the morning, when he was ready to collapse from exhaustion. He had finally mastered the use of the magic in his surroundings.

Ron and Hermione appeared the next morning to drag him out of bed and to breakfast. He filled up on bacon and eggs and made his way back to his classroom, where he readied for his first class, the first years from Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff.

He told them about the theory of incantations and set them to work in groups of five to choose one and alter it so that it did something other than its original intent. While they were working, he sat down behind his desk and picked up the book he had been reading the night before.

By the end of the lesson, he had found a new, enticing spell that he wanted to learn.

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He commandeered Ron and Hermione to help him. "It's like a storage room," he explained after dinner that evening, "except that it doesn't really exist. You snap your fingers and _poof_! No more whatever you were holding. Then you snap them again and it reappears. You can keep anything in it."

He had Hermione hold a pillow out in front of her. Harry focused hard on it, like the book had said to, and muttered the incantation. "_Disaparaser!_"

Nothing happened. In frustration, he tried again. And again. And again.

It took three nights, sitting in Harry's office, Ron intermittently doing his homework and doodling on pieces of parchment, and Hermione patiently helping Harry. By the time he first managed to make the cushion disappear to a place that he could access it whenever he wanted it, he was so frustrated he blew up at Hermione for suggesting they go to bed. She sternly told him that he _was_ going to bed whether he liked it or not because he was getting crankier than anyone wanted to deal with. He got her to let him try one more time, and it was that time he made it.

He practiced through the rest of February and halfway through March before he could access his magical storeroom, called the _Deposito_ by the textbook, without even thinking. He began to put it to practical use, keeping quills and parchment, books and items he confiscated in his Deposito for when he needed them. He found himself doing it subconsciously.

He didn't know where the objects went once they vanished, but he knew that if he had vanished something, he could call it back at a whim. It felt nothing like the Inner Sanctum. The Inner Sanctum he could trace; this he could not. It was a strange feeling, but he was not about to complain; it came in very handy.

Harry knew, deep in his heart, that he needed to start his search for Lord Voldemort. He also knew that if he put it off too long, he would lose every shred of courage he had.

That was why, in the middle of March, he started looking out for information.


	39. Wormtail's Tail

Aren't you proud of me? In the last month and a half, I've updated about fifteen times. I'm not updating every other day, but, hey, school's not out yet. Soon as June 6 hits, I'm done and I can update every day… at least, until my dear mother commandeers my services in helping to pack up the house. Oh, we're moving this summer, did I mention that? So it'll be busy, and I might not update as much as I'd hoped. But maybe (crosses fingers) this'll get done before the real one comes out.

Chapter 39

Wormtail's Tail

After his classes one Thursday evening in March, Harry sat down at his desk and wrote a letter. His quill hovered over the parchment for several long minutes as he pondered how best to phrase what he wanted to say. After starting three times and crumpling the parchment in frustration, he began anew once more, resolved to finish this one.

_Remus,_

_I need to talk to you. I need help with something that I can't do alone, something that I don't want to tell the rest of the Order about. Can you meet me just outside Hogsmeade tomorrow night at seven? _

_Harry_

He frowned as he reread it, but decided it was not going to get any better. With a sight, he attached it to Hedwig's leg, stroked her wing briefly, and sent her out the window.

The next morning at breakfast, Hedwig returned, landing among his bacon. Harry pulled the letter off of her leg, offered her his orange juice, and eagerly brook the seal.

_Harry,_

You realize, don't you, that when you send cryptic messages like this you tend to make me very nervous? See you at seven.

Remus

Leaving Ron and Hermione working on a murderous potions' assignment (who said there were not any perks to being a teacher?), Harry walked towards the village, deep in thought. There was one piece of information he wanted, and the only place he could think of to get that information was from the Order. However, since most of the Order knew nothing of the prophecy or of the Horcruxes, his curiosity concerning Voldemort's whereabouts would be looked upon as an arrogant disillusionment that he was capable of defeating the darkest wizard in four centuries. It was for this reason that he wanted to talk to Lupin. Lupin could inquire into the matter without arousing suspicion.

The sun had disappeared below the horizon, leaving a deep purplish-blue sky speckled with thousands of stars. Harry paced back and forth, wondering how he should explain his wish to know where Voldemort was. Should he tell him about the prophecy? Even Lupin, who had more confidence in Harry's abilities than Harry did himself, was wise; he knew, even as advanced in magic as Harry was, that he had very little hope of defeating him, and he would assume that his previous victories (every one a product of luck) had given him a rather overdeveloped sense of his limits. He was just debating this problem when two forms appeared in front of him.

One was Lupin, smiling warmly as he stowed his wand in his pocket to shake Harry's hand. The other was Sirius, who was positively beaming as he gazed up at the night sky.

"This is the first time," he whispered when Harry asked what he was so happy about, "the first time in sixteen years that I've been able to enjoy being outside without having to look over my shoulder for Ministry officials. It's…"

His voice trailed off as he gazed in contented silence at the inky canopy overhead. Harry turned to Lupin, raising a questioning eyebrow.

"I didn't think you'd have an objection to him coming," he said, shrugging. "And I made him swear that, if you did, he would go back without complaining."

"Of course not," Harry said quickly. He was actually rather glad Sirius had come. It would be less awkward this way.

"So… what's on your mind?" Lupin asked when Harry did not initiate the conversation. They began strolling along the main street of Hogsmeade, which was dark save for the light in the windows of the Three Broomsticks.

"If I tell you something… er, _secret_, will you swear not to tell anyone?"

Lupin looked at him strangely. "You're making me nervous again."

He smiled slightly. "I know."

"Yes, I swear."

"So do I," Sirius quipped, still unable to keep his eyes from roving skyward.

Sirius had changed. Harry had not heard him laugh since he'd emerged from the Department of Mysteries, and he was far more reserved and—as far as Harry could tell—more level-headed and less temperamental. Not a bad change, necessarily, but… Sirius was not himself. Or maybe it was himself… now.

"Two years ago," Harry began, "after Sirius… erm, _died_, Professor Dumbledore told me about something that I've never told anyone except Ron and Hermione. About six months before I was born, Professor Dumbledore was interviewing Trelawney for the divination post. He was getting up to leave when she went all funny and started talking in a deep voice and all. She gave a prophecy."

"Ah."

Harry looked at Sirius sharply. "You know about it?"

"James told me about it," he said softly, his face clouding, "before he died." He sighed and looked straight at Harry. "_The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches. … Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies… And the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not._" His gaze became hard. "It's why he attacked you and your parents, Harry. He wanted to kill you before you grew too powerful. After you survived the attack… The knowledge that you were alive, you had beaten the Dark Lord before you were even two, was all that kept me alive during the first two years in… in Azkaban. The thought that someday you would be old enough, smart enough, have the power to kill off the monster whose fault all of this was."

"Why didn't he tell me?" Lupin asked. Harry could see that he was hurt, try as he might to hide it.

"Forgive me," Sirius whispered. "Forgive James. Dumbledore knew there was someone close to James and Lily who was feeding information to Voldemort. We didn't think that Peter had the brains or the courage… we thought it was you. He hated to believe it, but he could not come to any other conclusion. Now I can't understand how none of us saw the truth." He hung his head. "I don't know how we could have believed you to be guilty. Of all of us, you'd be the least likely to betray James…."

"You're forgiven, my friend," Lupin said quietly, laying a hand on his shoulder. "I understand."

Harry could only shake his head at this. Of all the people in the world who had the right to be bitter and angry, it was Remus Lupin, and yet, he held no grudges.

"If it's any consolation," Sirius added, "when Voldemort showed up at his door, he must have realized that it was Peter, not you."

"It's not," Lupin said, "but thanks anyway."

"There's more to the prophecy," Harry interjected. "More that my dad didn't tell either of you."

Sirius stopped short. "What was it?" he demanded. The fear and apprehension were evident in his voice.

Harry looked back and forth between his two companions, and then he painfully started reciting the words that had run through his mind again and again for a year and a half. "_And either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives. … The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies."_

Lupin, who had walked broodingly a few feet past them, halted in his tracks. Without turning to face them, he whispered, "Neither can live while the other survives…"

"Meaning one of us will have to kill the other off or we'll probably both explode," Harry said darkly.

"Oh, Harry…" Lupin turned around, crossed to him, and embraced him tightly. "You've faced more in seventeen years than any man should have to in his entire lifetime. And it's not over yet."

The light from the Three Broomsticks revealed the tears in his eyes. Harry was grateful that he cared enough to cry for his plight.

Sirius looked stricken, hardly able to move. He was looking from Harry to Lupin and back again. "I'm going to lose you," he whispered hoarsely. "First James and Lily, then Dumbledore, now…" He took a step back from them and put his face in his hands, silent sobs wracking his body.

"No," Harry said determinedly. "No, I'm going to beat him. I _have_ to believe I can beat him, or I have nothing to hold on to, and I have absolutely no reason to try. That's why I wanted to talk to you. I have to know where Voldemort is, and I can't ask the entire Order about it because they'll think that I'm so cocky that I think I'm the only one who can beat him. But you… you can look into it without drawing attention to yourself."

"Harry," Lupin said hoarsely, motioning to him and Sirius to follow him to the outskirts of the village, where there was no chance of their being overheard. "I've got something to tell you as well. Over the years I realized that there had to be something key in Voldemort's survival after his own Killing Curse rebounded upon him. You're the only other person who has ever managed to survive it, and that was because of your mother's sacrifice for you. There had to be a reason that he wasn't killed, that he was able to regain a body after Peter rejoined him."

Harry let him continue, even though he had a fairly good idea that he knew what was coming.

"Ever since your first or second year, I've been researching. I've read every book I could get my hands on."

Sirius snorted. "You've always read every book that you could get your hands on."

"Yes, but these were different books," Lupin said impatiently. "After six or seven years, I've come up with one plausible—probable, even—theory. There's an ancient spell or ritual that very few people know, one that can tear your soul in pieces and store it in various different objects. That way, even if your body were to die, part of your soul would still remain and you could rebuild your life. However, it requires—"

"That you murder someone," Harry interrupted dryly. "Yes, I know. I also know that the most powerful magical number is seven, and therefore, if you wanted to be as strong and immortal as possible, you would tear your soul into seven pieces and store each of them in different objects and hide them in places where they would be practically inaccessible. I know that Voldemort knew about this spell—more than knew about it, he performed it. Seven times, in fact."

"You… you know," Lupin stuttered.

"Voldemort made _seven Horcruxes?_" Sirius demanded hoarsely. "_Seven?_"

"Well… his body included."

Sirius sank weakly onto a rock, unable to speak. Lupin was gazing at Harry. "How did you find out?"

Harry shrugged. "I can't take credit for that level of discerning. Professor Dumbledore told me about it at the beginning of last year. But he made me swear not to tell anyone else."

"But you just—"

"I didn't tell you," Harry interjected. "You guessed. I just told you the truth so you wouldn't end up guessing wrong and doing something disastrous."

"Seven Horcruxes," Sirius repeated, dazed. "We have no hope. We'll never find them all."

"On the contrary," Harry said, concentrating hard on calling up his Deposito, his magical storehouse. He had transferred the items from Dumbledore's secret bookcase to his Deposito because he was afraid that Hogwarts might be attacked and that they would no longer be safe. He waved his hand and in it appeared Gryffindor's staff. "I already have."

Both men's jaws dropped. "Well," he corrected, "I haven't found _all_ of them, and _I_ didn't find all of the ones that have been found. Dumbledore found one of them and recognized another as a Horcrux. I've found four. The one I haven't found is what I'm coming to you for. I need to find the Dark Lord himself now."

"You've… you've found them," Lupin repeated. He gently took the staff from Harry and ran his hands along it. "Gryffindor's staff… what were the rest?"

"A goblet that belonged to Helga Hufflepuff, a diary that belonged to Voldemort, a ring that was his grandfather's, a timeturner that was Ravenclaw's, and a locket that belonged to Slytherin."

"Historic relics," Lupin breathed, still grasping the staff. "I should have known."

Harry felt slightly guilty about telling them what he had sworn not to, but they were on the same track that had led Dumbledore to the conclusion he'd come to, and Harry had just helped to speed them along it.

"So…" Sirius began weakly, "since you've already found them, you want to find his body and get rid of it for good."

"Yeah… except that I don't think—"

Harry stopped short as he caught sight of something in the direction of the castle. His eyes widened, and he took a step backward in shock. "Oh, Merlin, no."

Sirius and Remus both spun in the direction of his gaze, and both swore simultaneously. Without another word, the three of them dashed towards the castle.

Once again, the Dark Mark hung in the sky above Hogwarts.

_Oh, please,_ Harry thought desperately as he sprinted up the pathway, _please let it be a joke._

He knew this was a feeble (at best) hope; only the Death Eaters knew how to cast the incantation, and as far as he knew, none of them was brainless enough to cast the very symbol that Lord Voldemort had adopted as a stupid prank. He could only hope that it they were not too late.

The gate was open, and no aurors stood to guard it. "Did they come through the gate?" Sirius panted as they slipped inside. He did not have to speak the thought that was present in everyone's mind: if they were so brazen as to come through the gate, that meant that there were a lot of them.

They skidded into the entrance hall and listened for sounds of a commotion. Terrified shrieks, spells, and shouts echoed through the corridors, seemingly coming from all directions.

"Where do we go?" Remus gasped, trying to catch his breath. Harry was practically doubled over, clutching a stitch in his side.

Sirius shook his head and started towards the stairs. He halted abruptly when he realized that there were people coming down it. Harry erected himself and found himself face to face with the third person he hated most in the world.

"Peter," Sirius and Remus breathed.

There were seven other men with him, all with masks on. Pettigrew held two halves of his in his hand. He looked shocked for a moment, and then a slow grin began to spread over his face. "My friends!" he said, spreading his arms mockingly. "How good it is to see you!"

Sirius lunged at him, but Remus and Harry caught the back of his robes. "Calm down, Sirius," Remus muttered. Then, looking back at the stairs, he said, "That's right, Peter, make fun of us like you own the world. It shouldn't be too hard to take us down with seven friends backing you up."

"I could do it on my own," he spat, raising his wand.

Remus took a few steps forward. "Go on then," he said boldly, flinging his arms out to the side, wand in his pocket. "Kill me."

Harry lunged forward, but Sirius caught him. "Don't," he whispered. "Remus knows what he's doing."

Nervously, Harry watched from several feet behind Remus. He saw a brief hint of fear flash through Pettigrew's face.

"Kill him," said one of Pettigrew's companions. "Come on, Wormtail, get it over with."

Still, he hesitated.

"Pettigrew!" barked another. "He's handing himself over to you! Kill him or I will!"

Remus laughed. "I knew you couldn't do it, Peter. You were never a killer."

Gripping his wand tightly, Pettigrew raised it, opened his mouth, and shouted, "Avada Kedavra!"

"NO!" Harry shouted, lunging forward, but still Sirius held him back. He was ready to see Remus crumple to the floor dead, ready to lose one of his best friends, but he never even came close. Remus waved his hand lazily and another spell shot up, deflecting the Killing Curse from its path.

"It seems I've underestimated you, Peter," he said, stepping backwards as the Death Eaters began to advance the rest of the way down the stairs. "I didn't think you had it in you."

"Remus, they're trying to outflank us," Sirius warned, raising his wand higher. The Death Eaters were creeping around them in an attempt to surround them.

"Stay together," Remus commanded, taking the final step back to join them. "Eight of them, three of us. Hardly seems fair."

"Think we should give them a chance to surrender?" Sirius asked.

Spells started flying. Harry's first instinct was to duck, but he held his ground and threw up a shield that would deflect all but the most potent of spells. "_Contremisco!_" he shouted.

The two men he was facing looked as though they were standing directly on the epicenter of an earthquake. They lurched and stumbled to the ground. The next thing Harry knew, however, he was hit with a fury of bedazzling lights, blinding him and disorienting him. He could see nothing. He knew this spell: _lumen confundus_, one that attacked the victim with a dizzying array of lights but that the conjurer could not see. He uttered the counterspell, but too late—something else hit him in the side. Before he knew what was happening, he was twisting and writhing on the ground; his opponent had shouted, "_Crucio!_"

The pain let up the next moment when something very solid slammed into the man standing over him and the spell was broken. Sirius had thrown himself at Harry's torturer. The man found himself out cold on the ground.

"Thanks," Harry grunted as Sirius put out a hand to help him up.

More alert now, Harry blocked another spell and hit the Death Eater with a quick Conjunctivitis Curse, impairing his eyesight long enough for Harry to shout "_Incarcerous!_" and send thin gray ropes towards him to bind him. As Apparition on Hogwarts grounds was impossible, the Death Eater was effectively trapped.

They found themselves facing four opponents across the room, including Peter. Neither side attacked; each warily faced the other, unwilling to leave an opening by restarting the fight.

Harry glanced at his companions. They were exchanging knowing glances. Remus mouthed, "_One… two… three._"

Harry did not know what they were doing, so he took the initiative and attacked with his own spell. "_Veniventus!_

Quickly, a wind picked up in the room. Harry, using his magic to control it, started whipping it in a cyclone-motion around the walls. He paid little attention to what Sirius and Remus were doing; he was too focused on performing his own spell right. The wind whipped and darted, picking up his robes and slapping them against his ankles. It was not long before the wind reached its apex. Harry held it still for one second, gathering it around him, and then sent it with lightning force towards the Death Eaters on the other side of the hall.

They were knocked off their feet, slamming into the wall behind them. There was a sickening _crack_; at least one man had splintered his skull. The others were out cold.

Except Pettigrew. He had excluded him for a reason, though he had taken care to whip his wand out of his hand and across the room.

Sirius and Remus were both staring at Harry.

"What?" he asked, shifting uncomfortably under their gazes.

"You can do Elemental Spells?" Remus asked, looking impressed.

"Yeah…"

"_I_ can't even do Elemental Spells," Sirius grumbled. "Oi!"

Peter had sprung towards his wand, but Sirius' own was pointed at him, and he froze in midair.

Sirius began advancing towards him. "You bastard," he hissed, wand aimed directly at his enemy's heart. "You're lower than dirt, you filthy, lying traitor. I'm going to kill you here."

Though Pettigrew could not move, his eyes grew wide and he looked petrified.

Sirius waved his wand, and the Impediment Curse lifted. Peter fell to the floor. "Pick up your wand, you rat," Sirius said in disgust. "Now!"

Peter scampered towards the fallen stick of wood on the other side of the room. He stood warily, his eyes full of terror. "Please, Sirius, Remus… don't do this. James wouldn't—"

"James," Remus said vehemently, advancing on the cowering man, "James. How dare you speak his name? You killed him. You were one of his best friends, and you _killed_ him! But you know what? You didn't even have the courage to do it yourself, you bastard. You killed him—and Lily, and you would've killed Harry, too—by setting Voldemort on them. You could never have taken them on by yourself. And just now, you had to have your friends behind you. As soon as they were gone, you turned into a sniveling, whining bastard again."

"Remus…" he squeaked. "Please, Remus…"

"We're going to give you more of a chance than you ever gave him," Remus spat. "More than you gave us. We're going to pit you one on one. Harry, he's yours. Defend yourself, Peter."

Harry glanced at Remus, who stepped back. _Do I want to do this?_

He took a step forward and raised his wand. Shakily, Peter raised his own.

Then Harry dropped it and turned his back on it and Peter. "No," he said quietly. "I'm not going to kill him."

"_Avada Kedavra!_" Pettigrew shouted.

Harry was ready for it. He ducked as the spell rushed over his head, ruffling his hair. He heard another shout. In unison, both of their wands pointed directly at Pettigrew, Remus and Sirius screamed, "_Avada Kedavra!_"

Harry turned to see Pettigrew slump to the floor, his eyes open in a blank stare, never to truly see again. He picked up his wand.

"We don't have the same reservations as you do," Sirius said harshly, kicking the body.

Remus gazed sadly at Pettigrew's still form. "He wasn't always like this," he whispered. "Before he became a Death Eater, he was… he was just a boy who wanted to be loved and accepted like everyone else." He turned away, and Harry could see the tears in his eyes. Not tears for Peter's death, but tears for his life.

A scream from upstairs reminded them what was still going on in the rest of the castle.

"C'mon," Sirius muttered, and he led the way up the stairs.

A/N: Yikes… ten pages. It's been a while since I've written one that long. Sorry for the cliffie… but hey, Monday is Memorial Day, and tomorrow's Sunday. I might actually update _soon_ this time.


	40. Snapebite

Toldya I'd update fast. This isn't so much because I have a holiday tomorrow as it is because Mackenzie has threatened to shoot me if I don't put a chapter up today. (_mutters darkly under breath_) Some best friend she is…

Chapter 40 (forty chapters!!)

Snapebite

Harry followed closely until they arrived at the second floor corridor, still panting to regain his breath. They stopped short as scene of chaos and devastation met their eyes.

The air was thick with flying spells, shouts, and screams. Remus ducked as a bolt of red light flew over his head, taking it all in with a glance. Harry blocked another streak of purple light, which rebounded and hit the Death Eater who'd sent it.

Remus dove into the fray, followed closely by Sirius. Harry stayed towards the fringes of the corridors, stepping over bodies and hexing anyone who sent a spell his way. He needed to know what was happening.

He couldn't tell. The room was in utter chaos. There were aurors, frightened students, Death Eaters, teachers… Harry didn't know what to make of it. _An attack on the castle,_ he thought. _It'll close, now, if anyone's killed._

_That's a problem that should be farthest from your mind,_ the rational part of him snapped. _You can deal with that later… after the Death Eaters are no longer trying to kill you._

Harry slipped up to the third corridor to find himself face to face with three menacing hooded figures. Harry raised his wand.

"Oh, look," one of them sneered, "it's precious Potter."

Harry didn't flinch, carefully keeping his back to the wall as they advanced on him.

"He thinks he can take us on, Abraxas," another one laughed. "All by his little self. What a big boy!"

Harry summoned up his Inner Sanctum and held it ready, boiling and twisting to be unleashed. He held his wand steady.

"The Dark Lord will reward us for removing him," the last Death Eater said, the pleasure evident in his voice. "Let's get him."

Harry blocked the two spells that flew out him without a problem. His mistake came when he relinquished the shield. The third Death Eater let fly another spell a split second after the other two, and it hit Harry.

The force of the spell threw him back against the wall, slamming his head against the stone. Blackness engulfed his senses for several long agonizing moments, long enough for ropes to spring out of the end of the Death Eaters' wands and wrap themselves tightly around Harry.

"Pity," one of them sneered. "I thought he'd put up more of a fight."

"How did you manage to get the Defense Against the Dark Arts post, Potter? I killed a second year back there who defended herself better than you."

Harry's mind reeled. _Killed a second year…_

"Oh, look," the one called Abraxas laughed. "See his face? We killed a student and he's traumatized…"

Harry groped desperately in the magic in the ropes. They were full of it, burning with the powerful force of magic, and he grasped it, commanding the ropes to untwist themselves. Before the Death Eaters could react, he rolled to his feet, holding his wand up to face them. He was breathing hard, but he was confident. "_Atraconfundus!_" he shouted.

Instantly, a shroud of utter blackness descended upon the room—one that Harry could not see. Only the Death Eaters had been blinded. He could very clearly see their confused faces, their groping hands, and he heard their calls to one another.

"Nice try, Potter, but you've blinded yourself as well," one of them smirked.

"Really?" Harry asked dryly, taking him out with a Stunning Spell directly to the chest.

"Lumos," one of them muttered. "Merlin, it doesn't work."

"You're Death Eaters," Harry sneered, dispatching another one with a full body-bind curse. "Surely you know how to defeat this darkness."

"Indeed," came a fourth voice from the other end of the corridor.

Harry looked up sharply. Advancing through the invisible darkness, holding his hand with a ball of flames in it—flames that penetrated the inky blackness—was Severus Snape.

Gritting his teeth and fighting to keep his temper under control, Harry said, "Professor! How good to see you!"

Snape laughed, sending a chill up Harry's spine. "You think you're so brave, don't you, Potter?"

Harry, without thinking, cut down the last Death Eater in the room, who apparently still couldn't see. He and Snape circled each other slowly, wands held aloft.

"Do you know what we're here for, Potter?" Snape hissed.

"Frankly, I don't care," Harry spat. "I just want you out."

"Bold words." He laughed coldly. "My, my, my, you _have_ grown cocky."

"A sin you're hardly free from."

"Ah, no, Potter. You see, there's the difference between us. It is not cockiness when your skills can defend your level of confidence. _I_ am confident. _You_ are arrogant."

Harry remained silent, waiting for Snape to make the first move.

"I tried to teach you that for six years, you realize. That your downfall would come from arrogance. It's how your dear saint of a father died. But you were too conceited to listen. Just like he was."

"Shut up," Harry snarled.

"And now you're getting angry, another opening for me to kill you."

"Then why haven't you? You obviously hate me enough, and if I've left you that many openings, why am I still alive?" Harry waited for an answer, and when it didn't come, he sneered. "I don't think you'd kill me."

"Don't underestimate your enemies, Potter," Snape said softly.

Harry put his wand in his pocket and spread his arms wide. "Kill me, then."

Snape cackled. "Brash and reckless, Potter!"

"And yet, I'm still alive."

"_Crucio!_"

Harry released his magic from the palm of his hand. The spell flew up, knocked Snape's off of its course, and flew towards him. Snape put up a quick shield, laughing.

"A trick you learned from your auror friends, no doubt," he said, raising his wand once more.

"Harry!" came a sharp voice from behind him. Harry fought the urge to whirl around, knowing that Snape would not pass up an opportunity like that. He recognized the voice; it belonged to Professor McGonagall.

"Hello, Minerva," Snape sneered.

"Harry, let me handle this. Go back downstairs."

"No," he answered determinedly, not taking his eyes off Snape. "I can fight."

"I see, Minerva, that as advanced as he's gotten in magic, you still haven't managed to deflate his overdeveloped ego."

"I never have been good at deflating egos," she said dryly. "I seem to have failed with you as well."

"Be quiet," he snarled. "I killed the great Dumbledore. Don't think I can't kill you as well."

Professor McGonagall snorted derisively. "Yes, you killed him while he was hardly able to stand, had no wand, and surrounded by six other Death Eaters."

Snape gave a mocking bow. "Yes. Shall we begin, then, rather than wasting our evening conversing like a pair of old women?"

"Harry…" she said warningly.

"I'm ready." He held his wand steadily, aimed directly at Snape's head.

Harry was ready for what Snape attacked with. When his opponent shouted "_Contremisco!_" Harry snagged the magic in the air around him, asking it to lift him off the ground. Though the stones below his feet rolled and heaved as though an earthquake had hit, he was floating safely about a foot above the ground. Professor McGonagall obviously knew the countercurse because she was standing very solidly on her feet, unshaken.

"Do you really think it's fair," Snape began conversationally, "that it's two against one?"

"Well," Harry remarked, letting the air set him down again, "it's hardly two against one, since I'm so _cocky_ as to be ridiculously incompetent. _Sectumsempra!_"

Snape dodged the spell narrowly, looking mildly angry. "How dare you use my own spell on me? _Crucio!_"

The battle took off. Spells ricocheted off the walls, chunks of ceiling raining down when beams of light hit them. Harry dodged and ducked, shouted, cursed, and hexed, but neither he nor Snape nor Professor McGonagall seemed to be getting anywhere. He hadn't known that three people could cause such chaos.

He blocked a purple beam of light that Snape sent his way, called "_Incendio,_" and rolled to avoid another spell. The spell, though, was not aimed at him—he realized too late that it targeted the stone above his head. As though in slow motion, Harry saw a piece of the ceiling break lose and fall towards him. He rolled to avoid letting it crush his skull, but he couldn't get his arm out of the way on time. With a sickening crunch, the chunk of stone landed, shattering bone and crushing skin. Harry screamed.

He must have blacked out temporarily. When he opened his eyes again, squinting in pain, he saw Professor McGonagall leaning against the wall, clutching her side, and Snape advancing on him. He could only watch in agony as the traitor raised his wand, opened his mouth, and screamed, "_Avada Kedavra!_"

Harry was ready to die, to feel the green bolt of light hit his side and then feel… nothing. But it never came. Something flashed in front of him, absorbing the light that had been meant for him and landing on the floor with a _thud._ Harry, using his good hand, gasped, "_Crucio!_"

Snape fell to the floor, writhing in pain. Harry, pouring all of his hatred and anger and pain into the spell, did not let it up. He was lying on the ground and could not see his victim, but he could hear Snape's screams. And he relished them.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

"Harry."

All that he was aware of was an agonizing pain in his right arm, sending a throbbing pain that ripped through the rest of his body. He moaned in agony.

"Harry, hold still. This is going to hurt."

The pain in his arm doubled, and he opened his eyes to see the stone being lifted off of it. He nearly vomited when he saw a white corner of bone protruding from the skin. He screamed as whoever was in the room lifted his arm.

"The bone's shattered," the man said. "I can fix it, just hold still, Harry."

Harry held still, more from an inability to move than from any particular wish to obey the man. He felt something hit his arm, and instantly, it began working itself back into shape. It hurt, but after a moment, it felt better except for a slight ache. He sat up.

"Remus…" he muttered, seeing who was administering to him. "Remus, Snape was…"

"We know, Harry," he said gently. "Lie down."

Like the last time he had performed it, the Cruciatus Curse had drained him, leaving a void where his magic should have been. He knew it wouldn't last, but he hated the empty coldness that pervaded him.

"Where's Snape?" he asked.

"He got away. Most of the Death Eaters did."

"Pro… Professor McGonagall was here. Snape hurt her… where…"

"Harry…" Remus said gently. His voice shook. "Harry, listen. Professor McGonagall… she… she's dead, Harry."

Harry sat up straight. "What?" he said frantically. "No, she was just… no, she can't be. She was just right…"

Then he saw two figures kneeling on the ground over another form. The people kneeling were Sirius and Tonks, and the person on the ground…

"Professor," he said hoarsely, crawling gingerly over to the still shape. He felt tears burning his eyes, and he made no effort to stop them.

There was a bloody wound on her side, but Harry knew that this was not what had killed her. It was too shallow. He remembered in the second before he had cast the Cruciatus Curse on Snape that Snape had tried to kill him with the Killing Curse. Something had blocked it, jumped in front of it to stop it from killing Harry.

"She… she died for me."

He had to force the words out of his throat. They did not come easily. He stumbled backwards and buried his face in his hands, sobbing. "No… not again. No. Please…"

"Harry—" Remus started.

"How many more?" Harry interrupted, looking up bitterly. "First my parents, then Sirius, then Dumbledore, now her… How many more of you are going to die trying to keep me alive?"

"Listen, Harry," Remus said firmly, taking him by the shoulders, "you are not the cause of death. Don't blame yourself for this. She knew what she was doing. She did it because she loved you and she knew that you had to go on. It Snape's fault, not yours. You didn't kill her."

"But that Killing Curse was meant for me," he whispered bitterly. "She died to save my life."

"Harry, listen to me." It was Sirius this time, turning to face him. "She died for what she knew was right. Would you die for Ron and Hermione? Then allow her the same privilege without begrudging it."

"So many people…" he whispered.

"Harry—"

"Leave me alone."


	41. The Great Schism

Achk! How can I be so cruel?! I know, it's terrible. I can't help it. I'd like to apologize to Professor McGonagall for killing her off… and to Rufus Scrimgeour and Fleur and Sturgis and Mad-Eye and… have I murdered anyone else? Pettigrew, but I'm not exactly sorry for that one…. Also, I've realized that I've switched back and forth between calling the man in question "Remus" and calling him "Lupin." In my head, I call him Remus, but Harry calls him Lupin, so it gets mixed up. I'm sticking with Lupin now, mostly to keep it in character. I've also noticed that sometimes the bold/italics/underlined portions don't always carry over when you upload a document. So if something _should _have italics and doesn't, it's not my fault. Thus why half of my A/Ns haven't been underlined… Anywho, enjoy. The terror is escalating…

Chapter 41

The Great Schism

"We have to decide on another leader. Otherwise we're all going to fall apart. That's why asked you here today, so that we could take a vote."

They were back in the meeting room of the Order. Lupin's voice was strained, as though he were trying hard to keep the emotion out of it. Others were less reserved; Mrs. Weasley, who sat two seats to Harry's left, was sobbing openly, and her husband, though patting her comfortingly on the back, had red eyes. Some wept, some just gazed straight ahead with blank stares. The Order would never be the same.

"I don't think we should have a leader," said another voice. It was Charlie, playing the antagonist once more. "It'd be better if we all had equal say in everything."

"We do have an equal say in everything," Lupin said patiently. "A leader just organizes it so that the Order doesn't descend into chaos."

"How do you know that a leader won't become corrupted?" he demanded. "Someone who has this many people at his command… power corrupts, Remus. You know that."

"Not necessarily," Lupin said, leaning forward. "Both Dumbledore and Minerva managed to retain control of the Order without turning tyrannical."

"And both of them ended up dead," Charlie snarled. "We can't afford another blow like that."

"In joining the Order, you all knew—"

"Does anyone else agree with me?" Charlie interrupted angrily, standing abruptly. "I say that first we take a vote on whether or not we should _have_ a leader. If you're with me, then raise your hand."

Twenty or so hands shot into the air. Charlie looked triumphantly around the room. "See? I'm not the only one."

"Charlie, sit down," Lupin said, his voice deceptively calm. "You're out of your mind."

Charlie let out a laugh. "Look!" he shouted. "Look at him, he's trying to control me even now! He's brainwashed the lot of you into thinking that he's more powerful than anyone, that _he_ should lead the Order!"

"Charlie!" Mr. Weasley said sharply, "What in Merlin's name has gotten into you? Sit down."

"Don't you try to order me around," Charlie snarled. "I'm not a kid anymore, Dad, I can make my own decisions."

"You're free to make your own decisions, but you're not free to drag others down with you."

Charlie balked. "Me? I'm not forcing anyone to do anything. You, on the other hand—" he pointed at his father and at Lupin—"are trying to _make_ me be quiet so I don't ruin your tyrannical regime."

"Please, Charlie, we're not trying to take away your opinion, we're just trying to get you to _calm down_, for heaven's sake. You're overreacting."

"I have every right to overreact," he hissed. "Four of our number have died in the last nine months—"

"And more will die if we continue to fight like this," Lupin interrupted. "Please, Charlie, can we talk about this rationally?"

"—and it's time we stopped sitting by and letting You-Know-Who kill us off," he continued, ignoring Lupin. "If we elect a leader, we single one of us out as better than the rest. Not only does that make that person a target for You-Know-Who, but it also generates jealousy and resentment among us, a division that, in light of what has happened, would destroy the Order."

"_You're _destroying the Order." This time it was Sirius, who stood and faced Charlie. "You're the one causing division and fighting."

"Shut up," Charlie snapped. "You don't know anything about this. You've been _dead_ for the last year and a half.

Sirius' hand jerked, but Lupin held him back. "Calm down," he whispered, pulling him back to his chair.

"I'm only presenting another point of view," Charlie continued. "A point of view, it seems, that many of us agree with."

"You're being hotheaded." Bill stood up and crossed to his brother. "What in Merlin's name has gotten into you?" he whispered, putting his hands on Charlie's shoulders. "You've changed."

Charlie jerked away. "I call for a vote," he said quietly. "Raise your hand if you're with me."

Harry's eyes flew away from the two brothers in the middle and gazed around the room. A little less than half of the witches and wizards present raised their hands. Charlie looked around as well and started towards the door. "If you're not with me," he whispered, glaring at Bill, "then you're against me."

He stalked out, and most of the people who had raised their hands followed.

"Wait!" Lupin shouted hoarsely. "If you leave, you're creating a greater schism among us than the election of a leader could ever have created. If we split, Voldemort will destroy us. He'll crush us!"

But no one turned back.

When the door was shut, Lupin sank into a chair and put his head in his hands. Only half of their number was left. The rest sat in stunned silence, looking from one to the other in apprehension and amazement.

"Well," Lupin said quietly after a moment, "we have a decision facing us. Do we do as Charlie wanted and not elect a leader?"

"No," said Tonks vehemently. She stood, crossed to him, and took his hand. "Look what happened as soon as McGonagall died and left us without someone guiding us. We can't afford for this to happen again."

"We can't afford it happening the first time," Sirius said grimly. "We have no hope. Not when there are only thirty of us."

"Let's vote, then," Mr. Weasley interjected. "We have to start somewhere. Nominations, anyone?"

"Remus," said about seven people in unison, Harry included.

"Tonks," said Sirius. The nominee in question shot him an angry glance that said very clearly, _Absolutely not._

"Arthur," quipped Elphias Doge.

There was a moment of silence, then Mr. Weasley said, "Anyone else?" When no one spoke, he let out a sigh. "Very well then, all who want me, raise your hands."

Six hands went up.

"Tonks?"

Sirius raised his hand, grinning slightly, and more than one person—including Tonks—snorted.

"Remus?"

The remaining twenty-two hands shot into the air. A landslide majority.

"Very well, then," Mr.Weasley said, smiling, "Remus, you're on."

Lupin looked slightly dazed, but he recovered himself quickly. He stood up, looked around the room, and started to cry. "This is a crushing blow," he whispered. "Minerva's dead. Charlie's led half of the Order away to who knows where. Voldemort's attacked Hogwarts, and now it will probably close. There's hardly any hope for our cause.

He gazed around the room. "But we can do it. If we stay united, if we don't let this happen again, if we work to spread the _truth,_ we can do it." A sad smile flickered across his lips. "And if not, at least we'll go down fighting to the death.

"For now, all we can do is wait. We can't attack Voldemort until we know where he is." He looked straight at Harry. "But when that happens, we will come out into the open. Until then, we need to recruit more to build up what we've lost. We have to get the Ministry on our side. I believe we need to somehow incriminate the Minister of Magic."

"We had this argument last time," Elphias Doge said wearily, "and we voted against doing so."

"Desperate times call for desperate measures," Lupin said shortly. "If there are any objections, voice them now."

No one spoke. "Then someone's going to have to accuse him of being one of Voldemort's minions," Lupin said. "I can't do it; no one'll listen to me."

"I will," said Harry, raising his hand. "He already hates me as it is, and I can't really make him angrier at me. I'll send in a letter to the Ministry."

"Are you sure, Harry?" Lupin asked concernedly.

"Yes."

Harry was sure. The attack the previous night had at first pummeled him with an overpowering sense of grief, but that had changed with the rising sun. Now his veins pumped with a fiery anger, a rage and fury that he could not find a way to sate. Accusing the Minister of Magic of being a Death Eater provided a small outlet for his wrath.

"Alright then," Lupin said gravely, "we're done here."


	42. Devastation

Here 'tis! School's almost over!

Chapter 42

Devastation

Slowly, everyone started to get up and trickle out. Harry remained where he was, his head in his hands. He couldn't believe what had just happened. Half of the Order had just walked out, intent on creating an organization where anarchy was the ruler. And Charlie, _Charlie _of all people had led it.

Before long, only he, Mr. Weasley, Ron, Hermione, Sirius, Lupin, and Tonks were in the room. Mr. Weasley laid a hand on his shoulder. "Are you alright?" he asked quietly.

Harry nodded.

Tonks took Lupin's hand. "You did wonderfully."

He kissed her gently. "I don't know what I can do for the Order," he whispered so quietly that Harry barely caught the words. "They believe in me, but I'm no better than they."

"They chose you for a reason," Sirius said fiercely. "That has to count for something."

Lupin sank into a chair. "I can't _do_ anything for them," he said dejectedly. "Werewolves have fewer rights than ever. I can't even legally have a job where I'm in contact with humans for more than fifty percent of the time."

"You _are_ human," Harry interjected. "It's only bigoted, miserable _toads_ like Umbridge that say otherwise."

Lupin smiled bitterly. "Which wouldn't be a problem, except that bigoted, miserable toads like Umbridge have the law in the palms of their hands."

"Remus," Mr. Weasley said sharply, pointing at a window on the other side of the room.

They all whirled around to see what he was pointing at. On the sill, patiently waiting, was a golden-colored owl. Tonks crossed to it, forced the half-rotten window frame up, and held out her hand for the owl to climb onto it.

"It's to Harry," she said, frowning. "From the Ministry."

Sirius looked at him strangely. Harry shrugged and accepted the letter from Tonks. Very aware of everyone else's eyes on him, he broke the seal and unfolded it.

_Dear Mr. Potter,_

_We regret to inform you that your post of professor of Defense Against the Dark Arts at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry is hereby cancelled due to the closure of the school. You are asked to return to the castle for the remainder of the week to help sort out affairs and clean up after the recent attack by supporters of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. We thank you for your cooperation. _

_Sincerely, _

_Gregory Wilson_

_Head of the Board of Governors of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

Harry sank slowly into one of the vacated chairs, breathing as though a fist had just slammed into his stomach. "What's wrong?" Lupin asked hurriedly, laying a concerned hand on his shoulder. "What's happened?"

"They… they've closed the school," Harry muttered. "They've closed Hogwarts."

He knew it should not have surprised him as much as it did. Of course they would have to close the school. The headmistress had been killed, and probably some students as well. Harry didn't know; he had left for Grimauld Place before the full extent of the damage of last night's attack had been evaluated. He wasn't sure he _wanted_ to know.

Sirius sat down next to him. "You're sure? They've closed it?"

"Here," Harry said, handing him the letter. "Read it, I don't mind."

Sirius read it out loud to everyone in the room. Lupin began pacing, Mr. Weasley put his head in his hands, and Hermione looked positively stricken. Ron put a consoling arm around her shoulders. "It's alright, Hermione," he said soothingly. "It'll reopen once You-Know-Who is dead."

"I know," she whispered, but her voice was strained, and she sounded as though she were about to cry.

"I have to go," Harry said, standing determinedly. "They need my help. I dunno who's in charge now that Professor McGonagall's… gone, but someone's got to clean up. I'll be back by Sunday."

"You can come and stay with us," Ron said hopefully. "After you're done, I mean…"

Harry looked at him gratefully. "Thank you," he said.

He Apparated to the outer side of Hogwarts' main gate, where a sober-looking auror looked at him suspiciously until he told him he was a teacher and then let him in. Harry crossed the grounds of the only place he had every really called home. The ground was covered with the dew of mid-March, and the sun, just cresting the horizon, sparkled across it, making the grounds shimmer with unmatchable beauty. Harry felt the tears welling up behind his eyes.

He brushed them away hurriedly and ascended the steps into the entrance hall, through the great oak doors that stood open. He heard noises from the Great Hall; forcing back a moan of despair, he entered.

Harry took a step back as the scene met his eyes. Teachers were bustling around, some crying, some looking completely shocked. The tables were gone, and in a row across the hall lay the still, cold bodies that had suffered the night before. Harry let out a strangled sob.

"Harry!" someone called.

He turned around to see Jorden Andrews, beckoning to him from the entry hall. With relief, Harry turned away from the grim sight to face his friend.

Jorden's eyes were red and tears streaked his face. He embraced Harry.

"How… how many?" Harry asked past the lump in his throat.

Jorden turned away. "Sixteen," he muttered. "And one professor and four Death Eaters." He returned his gaze to Harry. "Ten of them were first- or second-years," he said hoarsely. "They were… they were kids! Kids who hardly knew the first thing about self-defense, who had done nothing, and they slaughtered them like cattle!" He shouted the last part, turning and slamming his fist against the stone wall. His shoulders shook in anguish. "They killed them," he whispered, his forehead touching the cool stone. "They _killed_ them."

Harry could do nothing, could say nothing of comfort. He leaned against the wall and sank to the floor, burying his head in his hands. He could no longer hold back the tears; they threatened to overwhelm every rational sense he had left.

"'Arry," someone said from above him.

"'Lo, Hagrid," he said softly. He felt the giant hands helping him up.

"C'mon, kid, ye'll be more useful upstairs in the 'ospital wing. You too, Jorden. C'mon."

With gentle prodding from Hagrid, somehow they both made it up the three flights of stairs and down the hall to the hospital wing. Jorden explained, "The students were all sent home early this morning, except the ones who were injured. They're in the hospital wing, unless their conditions are so bad they had to be moved to St. Mungo's."

"How many were that bad?"

"Eleven."

Harry winced. "How many of them are expected to live?"

"Seven."

That nearly made him sob.

They pushed aside the door and stepped in. Harry's breath choked when he surveyed the scene.

All of the beds were full. Some students were a bloody mess, where others looked alright, only sleeping. Harry walked grimly towards Madame Pomfrey at the end of one row, tending to the wounds of a third-year Ravenclaw boy. She was weeping openly. When Jorden and Harry informed her that they were there to help, she smiled wanly through her tears. "Thank you," she whispered. "If you would get some clean linens out of the closet, Harry, and the bedpans out of the storage room…"

They spent the remainder of the day doing whatever they could to help. Neither knew much of anything about healing, but Madame Pomfrey gave them orders and they did as they were asked. As the sun was setting, bathing the grounds in a beautiful golden color that belied the devastation inside, Professors Flitwick and Slughorn came in to tell them that they would take their places so that they could go down and eat dinner in the staff room. It was a solemn affair; no one talked much, and very few people were sitting down to eat at one time. Harry hardly tasted his food, which he didn't have much stomach for in the first place. Jorden looked to be in about the same state.

After they ate, Harry told Jorden that he had to go to the bathroom, saying he would return to the hospital wing later. However, Harry made his way towards the Great Hall.

It was dark inside; Harry lit his wand and held it out before him. He didn't want to do this, but he had to know. He had to know who had been killed.

The wand light fell over each still face in turn, and each one brought a renewed wave of tears. He knew each one of them, had taught them, watched their progress throughout the year, smiled as he saw their improvements. Now he could only let out a strangled sob at each of their faces.

Towards the end of the line, he saw one that made his heart start pounding painfully. He dropped to his knees next to the body.

It was a first-year, still and pale in death, but with a calm expression on her face nonetheless.

"Arionna," he whispered.

The brilliant young girl who reminded him so much of Hermione, who asked insightful questions and progressed far past the rest of her year, would never breathe again.

Harry heard the footsteps behind him, but he did not turn around.

"I thought I might find you here."

It was Jorden. He knelt beside him and put a hand on his shoulder. Harry shook his head, unable to speak.

"Come on," Jorden said softly. "It does you no good to linger here."

He was a lot calmer than he had been that morning. Harry had no heart to resist as he led him out of the hall and back to the hospital wing, though as the night progressed, he knew that he was almost being more of a hindrance than a help. He was almost as much in need of medical treatment as the students he tended.

The next morning, Saturday, arrived, dawning bright and cold. The Great Hall was empty; parents had long since been informed of the state of their children's health. The castle required only the teachers to be gone to be left empty.

Harry packed his belonging sadly, pulling pictures off the walls of his room and books out of the closets. Every time he saw the empty desks, he felt the tears come back again. They hadn't really ever gone away since Thursday night.

He levitated his trunk and his various boxes to the gate, where he was met, for the first time that year, with no aurors. They had gone home, now that there was nothing left to guard.

With one final look at his school, his castle, his home, Harry turned around, summoned up an image of the Burrow, and Disapparated.

A/N: Sorry for the depressing chapter. I know, it was rather… erm, morbid, but it had to happen. Thanks for bearing with me.


	43. Together?

Okay, I'm beginning to think this is going to be fewer than sixty chapters. Quite a lot fewer, actually. Closer to fifty, though I can't guarantee anything. It wasn't all supposed to happen as fast as it did, but… well, as long as you can understand it, all the better. I have two days left of school, and once summer hits, I'll be able to update almost every day, at least until we move. And I hope to be finished before then, because I don't want to have the stress of trying to finish this hanging over my head at the same time I'm freaking out about moving. Anyway, enjoy… and review :-D

Chapter 43

Together?

"It's falling apart, Harry," Lupin muttered softly, rubbing his eyes in weariness and frustration. They were in the kitchen of the Burrow, Lupin leaning forward in a chair with his elbows on his knees and Harry pacing back and forth in nervous preoccupation. In the month since the attack on Hogwarts, he had grown jumpy and anxious, knowing that he had to do something but not knowing what. There was nothing he _could_ do, not until the Order located Voldemort.

But that was the problem. The Order was falling apart. They faced increasing darkness pressing in on them from outside—more frequent attacks, the state of anxiety that plagued everyone, the constant fear that a Death Eater was lurking within their midst—but they could have withstood all of this were they not also crumbling from within. Charlie's dissention had only been the first destructive wave; arguments now broke out frequently, and nothing ever got done. Harry's letter to the Ministry accusing the Minister of being a Death Eater had been ignored. Rights were constantly being stripped from the people in the name of safety, and aurors were being murdered in their beds.

Tonks had been attacked in her apartment in London, facing off against three Death Eaters. However, she had laid out an escape plan after the assaults against aurors had increased, and she got away with only a broken arm and a nasty gash on her cheek.

Kingsley Shaklebolt had not been so lucky. He was dead.

Sirius had arrived at the Burrow three days previously with the grim news that all the Unspeakables of the Ministry had been attacked individually, and not one had survived.

"That means…" Harry had said hoarsely, raising his gaze to meet Sirius' eyes, "…that means that David Hoffman was killed."

Haltingly, Sirius had nodded.

And then, fifteen minutes ago, Lupin had come to tell him that three more had died: Dedalus Diggle, Elphias Doge, and Hestia Jones had been trying to glean information about Voldemort's whereabouts, and they had been attacked together. Elphias and Dedalus were killed on the spot, and Hestia lived long enough only to tell her story to the housemaid who found her.

And Lupin was weary. He had fought—for years, he had fought, seeing his best friends die around him. James had been first, fighting to the death for his wife and his son. He had _thought_ Pettigrew to be dead and Sirius to be worse—namely, a traitor who had joined Lord Voldemort—only to realize that he had it wrong, that Peter was the traitor and Sirius was not, and then see Sirius die, with Dumbledore's death following only a year later. The rights of werewolves were growing increasingly limited—not to mention how much stress and pain just _having _lycanthropy added—and, though Lupin never admitted it, Harry was sure that after learning about the prophecy, he was despairing because he thought that Harry was going to die as well. And he was convinced that the Order was falling apart.

_He's right,_ Harry told himself, as much as he didn't want to believe it.

Mrs. Weasley came bustling inside, having been working in the garden. She saw Lupin's face, and immediately her eyes narrowed suspiciously. "What's happened?" she asked.

With a melancholy sigh, Lupin told her. Sounding as though she had a bad head cold, she was on her way upstairs when the doorbell rang. She answered it, and a moment later, Tonks poked her head into the kitchen. "Oh," she said, "there you are, Harry. Remus was looking… oh, hello, Remus…" She paused. "Never mind, Harry," she said brightly, grinning.

"I'm glad someone can still smile," Harry remarked, deciding that if he paced anymore, he was going to wear a hole through the carpet. He sat down.

The smile slid off her face at that. "You heard, then." When he nodded, she sighed and pulled up a chair next to Lupin, taking his hand. "Liven up," she said to both of them, frowning. "You're not going beat You-Know-Who if you die of depression first."

Lupin smiled wanly.

"Where're Ron and Hermione?" Tonks asked Harry. "It's not very often I see you without them."

"They went out," he said shortly. His mind flashed back quickly to that morning, when he had said goodbye to them. Ron, after working up the courage for about three weeks, had (finally, in Harry's opinion) asked Hermione on a date. They had gone to Diagon Alley to spend the day, though, Harry thought, there was no longer much excitement there. The entire wizarding world had been covered with a shroud of darkness.

The front door opened again and Sirius appeared a moment later. He looked as though he were about to say something, but then he paused, a strange look crossing his face. After a moment, he chuckled. "So," he said, leaning against the doorframe and smirking at Tonks and Lupin, "when's the wedding?"

"What are you talking about?" Tonks asked a little too innocently.

As a response, he crossed to her and grabbed the hand that wasn't entwined in Lupin's. He held it up. "_This_ is what I mean."

Harry's face broke into a grin for the first time in a week. On her fourth finger was a gold ring with a small diamond set into it. She snatched her hand back quickly, but she was smiling sheepishly.

"So…?" Sirius prompted. "Tell us officially."

Tonks nudged Lupin, who looked up at Sirius. "We're… we're going to be married," he said quietly. His eyes roved his best friend's face, as though silently asking if he approved. Harry knew he wouldn't have changed his mind even if Sirius _had_ disliked the idea, but he could also understand why he wanted his approbation. Sirius gave a barely perceptible nod and a slight but sincere smile.

And Harry noticed that for the first time in a long while, there was hope and joy in Lupin's face.

There was a tapping sound at the window above the sink. The four of them turned to see a large, gray owl rapping its beak against the pane. Sirius crossed to the window, opened it, and accepted the letter from the arrogant-looking bird, who soared off immediately after delivering its message. Sirius looked at it strangely, turning it over in his hands.

"It's… it's to me," he said, perplexed, "and it has the Durmstrang crest on it."

Harry's heart started pounding. He had a good idea who it was from.

Sirius scanned the letter, his eyes first registering shock, then hatred, and then confusion. His hand shook before he got to the end of it. He leaned against the counter for support, not even noticing that he put his hand in a bowl of beans Mrs. Weasley had set out to soak for dinner. He read the letter twice more in rapid succession, and then he looked up, locking eyes with Harry.

"Why didn't you tell me?" he asked softly.

Harry shook his head dumbly. The truth was, he didn't know. He had a feeling in his gut that had told him to stay silent about his visit to Durmstrang, his meeting with the headmaster… with Sirius' brother. It was a feeling he couldn't explain, but his stomach had clenched every time he thought about telling him, and eventually, it had faded out of his mind.

"This says you saw him," Sirius said, his voice shaking. "It says you went to Durmstrang, and asks that if I have any doubts about where his loyalties lie, I go to you for the whole story." There was pain in his eyes, a profound pain that Harry couldn't pretend to comprehend. Sirius glanced at the letter again. "I would've thought you would have told me the whole story without being prompted."

"I… I'm sorry, Sirius," he stammered. "I… I didn't want to hurt you. I just…" He looked up. "I'm sorry."

"What is it?" Lupin asked, his brow creased.

So Harry told them the whole story (or most of it, at least—he left out the part about the Horcruxes, since Tonks was in the room). He finished dejectedly, looking at Sirius and hoping for forgiveness.

Sirius sank weakly into a chair. "He's… he's alive," he said hoarsely, looking at the ground.

"I'll bet that was his reaction when he found out that _you_ were," Lupin said. "Does it say how he learned it?"

"The papers. It took a while to reach him, seeing as it wasn't exactly international news…"

Tonks was looking at Harry suspiciously. "You went to Durmstrang _just_ to learn more about the Dark Arts."

Harry shifted uncomfortably. "Yeah."

She shook her head. "You're an abysmal liar, Harry, really. Will you tell me the truth, or will I just have to guess?"

Harry rolled his eyes. "I'm not going try to invent another reason, if that's what you mean."

She sighed. "Alright, whatever. But you know, of course, that the human mind generally jumps to the worst conclusions when left to wander?"

He just turned away and faced Sirius. "Did he say anything else?"

"He's coming," he said quietly. "He wants to come to London to talk to me. Next Sunday." He smiled bitterly. "It'll be April thirtieth."

Lupin looked at him sadly. "He knows you," he said quietly. "More than you ever realized."

Tonks and Harry exchanged glances. "What's so significant about April thirtieth?" she asked.

When Sirius spoke, it was as though he were fighting back tears. "It was the day I finally ran away from home, during the Easter holidays in our sixth year. It was… it was the last day I ever saw Regulus." He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Twenty-two years is a long time," he said finally. "Twenty-two years spent believing that he was dead, that he was a Death Eater…" He looked up at Harry. "What's he like?"

"Well, he has a limp… I didn't exactly get a chance to ask him what it was from. He's obviously the headmaster of Durmstrang, and he—"

"No," Sirius said impatiently. "I mean, what's he _like_?"

Harry could do nothing but shrug. "I talked to him a grand total of twice, and the first time was… a very strange conversation that gave me no insights into his character." He looked up. "But he said he looked up to you, more than you ever knew. And he's sorry for the crimes he's committed; that much I know."

Sirius nodded slowly. "Thank you," he said, his voice hoarse.

At that moment, the back door opened and Ginny came in, a broomstick over her shoulder, followed closely by Fred and George, who had taken the weekend away from their store to come home. Ginny and Harry looked at each other and turned quickly away, grinning. All three of them were sopping wet; it looked as though it were raining outside, though Harry could clearly see the sun shining brightly through the window.

"We had a water fight," Ginny explained, wringing out her hair into the sink, "on our brooms."

"Reusable, self-filling water-balloons," George added. "Compliments of… us."

"Big surprise," Sirius grumbled as Fred shook his head vigorously, spraying water everywhere. "You're getting me wet, you know," he remarked dryly.

"You should've seen it," George said dreamily. "Fred threw one at Ginny that was completely off the mark, except that she didn't know his aim was off, so she swooped to avoid it and ended up flying straight into it… Ha! Harry you would've laughed—it was the perfect roll, except had it really been Quidditch she'd have slammed into a bludger."

"Yeah, and you were laughing so hard you didn't see mine, which hit you smack in the face," Ginny added irritably. "Get lost, will you?"

She was headed towards her bedroom when she noticed the same thing Sirius had noticed fifteen minutes earlier. She stopped short, looked from Tonks to Lupin and back to Tonks, and grinned broadly. Without another word, she headed upstairs.

Harry was in Ron's (and currently, his) bedroom before dinner that evening when there was a knock on his door. He looked up from the book he was reading and said, "Come in."

It was Ginny. She grinned at him and came in to sit down on the floor beside his bed. There was a moment of silence, and then she began, "So… Lupin and Tonks are getting married."

"That's what I've heard," he replied, setting down the book and lying flat against the pillows.

"And Ron and Hermione are dating," she continued.

"Yeah, and I'm starting to worry that they're still not back."

Ginny scoffed. "They'll be fine. Anyway, this has all got me thinking…"

"About what?"

"About all that I'm missing out on."

Harry laughed. "I should've known it would be something like this." He rolled over and hit her with his pillow. She yanked it from him and hit him back, getting up and sitting on his stomach.

"Really, Harry," she said, "all this noble we-can't-be-together-because-it's-too-dangerous stuff is really starting to get on my nerves."

"Ginny," he said firmly, "if you were hurt because of me, I'd kill myself. I swear, if there were any other way—"

"Do you love me?" she asked abruptly.

Harry was taken aback by the question. "If I didn't, don't you think I'd go out with you? It's _because_ I love you that I won't. You're still sitting on my stomach, by the way."

"Harry," she said, and she was no longer laughing, "I know you don't understand this, but I'm going to tell you anyway. I _love_ you. I can't just sit around and watch while you go do brave and noble things and leave me behind. You said you'd kill yourself if anything happened to me? Well, how do you think I feel? Don't you think I'd do the same if you were hurt? Harry, listen to me. I'm sick of living without you. I'm willing to die if it means we can be together."

"Don't say that," he admonished.

"It's true!" she argued. "Tell me the truth. Do you love me?"

"Yes, but that's not—"

"Then let me make my own decisions," she whispered.

Then she leaned down and kissed him. Harry knew he should pull away, knew that he shouldn't let this happen, but his heart was pounding and his head was hot and he couldn't draw back. He kissed her back, and subconsciously he reached out for her magic. He felt it, burning like a brilliant flame inside her. And then he knew that she was right.

Of course, the door chose that moment to open.

Or rather, Sirius chose that moment to open the door. "Ginny, Molly was…. Oh."

He broke off, but he didn't shut the door. Ginny pulled away from Harry and glared at Sirius as though daring him to object.

"Er…" he stammered, "your mother wants you downstairs. Something to do with muddy tracks in the kitchen."

Ginny glanced at Harry as though saying, _See? I was right all along,_ and then she swept past Sirius and out of the room.

Sirius just stood there for a moment, a fathomless expression on his face. When, after a long silence, he still didn't speak, Harry sat up and asked, "Is anything wrong?"

"No, I just… it's only that…" He paused, and after another moment he crossed to Harry and sat beside him on the bed, running his hand through his hair. "When I walked in," he whispered, "you looked… I could've sworn I saw… you and Ginny looked _exactly_ like your parents, Harry. I could have sworn for a moment that you were James and Lily."

Harry flushed, half with embarrassment, half with pride.

"I don't know if anybody ever told you…" Sirius said hesitantly, "I mean, not many people ever even knew, so I doubt you do…"

"Told me what?" Harry asked sharply.

He sighed. "Everyone always tells you that you have your mother's eyes. Well, that wasn't true when you were born. You looked exactly like James, one hundred percent. Your eyes were hazel. And then that night… that Halloween that Voldemort came to your house… I don't know what happened, Harry, but when I got to the… to the ruins, and I saw you in Hagrid's arms, your eyes weren't hazel anymore. They were green."

"My eyes… my eyes _changed_?" Harry said hoarsely.

Sirius nodded. "I'd seen you just two days previously, and they'd been hazel, just the same as always. But then, after James and Lily died, they turned brilliantly green."

"Like my mother's."

"Yes. Not many people saw you during your first year, Harry. Your parents knew within three months of your birth that Voldemort might be after them, and they went into hiding. It was just me, Remus, Peter, Dumbledore, and Hagrid, for the most part." He smiled wanly. "I'm sorry, Harry. I know it's probably a painful subject for you. Forgive me."

Harry shook his head. "Nothing to forgive."

Sirius stood to leave, but he paused on his way out, smirking. "The way today is going, what with Remus and Tonks getting married and Hermione and Ron out on a date and now you and Ginny, we'll be having a triple wedding this summer."

Harry threw a pillow at him. "Ginny's not even of age," he scowled. "And we're not going out, not really."

"Oh, and that snogging session I just walked in on is just a nightly pastime for you two," Sirius snorted. "Goodnight, Harry."

Harry lay in bed until Ron arrived home, sometime around nine. He asked how it was, but he wasn't really listening. He was thinking about… well, everything. It had been a long day.

He was also thinking, _Maybe Ginny's right after all. _

A/N: another depressing chapter. About all this dismal stuff… it's not about to end. But I made it happy in some parts, too! Remus and Tonks are finally engaged! Don't ask me what Tonks' name will be when she gets married, though… Maybe she'll be Nymphadora Tonks Lupin and still go by Tonks… hmm…


	44. Terror Unleashed

All I can think of right now is, _I should be studying for my chemistry final…_

And yet, here I am, writing another chapter. 

I need to get my priorities straightened out.

Chapter 44

Terror Unleashed (yes, I know it's melodramatic. Better chapter title suggestions are very welcome for this one.)

The evening of April thirtieth found Harry and Ron lying on their stomachs, a chessboard between them. Ron's brow was furrowed, trying to calculate what Harry would do in response to each of his possible moves, but Harry's mind wasn't really on the game. It was far away, in 12 Grimauld Place, with Sirius. His distraction became evident when he moved his queen directly into the path of Ron's rook, leaving an opening for his friend to knock out his most powerful piece and put him in check at the same time. Ron, apparently, noticed this. "What's wrong, Harry?"

"Hmm? Oh… nothing."

"You're not focused."

"I'm thinking about Sirius."

Ron rolled over and stretched. "Oh."

"He's fine, Harry," Hermione, who was sitting on the couch next to them, a book in her hands, assured him. "You don't need to worry."

"I'm not _worried, _really, more like… wondering. He's seeing his brother for the first time in more than twenty years. That would be nerve-wracking even if you were _normal_ brothers, but with their situation… Regulus thought Sirius was a Death Eater until November, at which point his view was corrected to understand that he was innocent but _dead,_ and Sirius has always thought Regulus to be a Death Eater _and_ dead, and suddenly, they're both alive and neither is a Death Eater. It'd be rather strange, don't you think?"

"Sirius is a big boy," said Ginny, who was sitting beside Harry. "He can take care of himself."

"Ginny," Harry said abruptly, "how would you like to go to Hogsmeade with me tomorrow?"

She looked at him suspiciously. "You've changed your mind?"

"Only sort of."

"Well… I suppose I could be prevailed upon to go, if you get down on your knees and apologize for taking so long to ask me."

"I'm lying down for you, Ginny. Prostrate on the ground. That's better than kneeling. And I'm sorry. Is that good enough?"

"That'll do, I suppose."

"Then will you go with me?"

"I'd be delighted."

Half an hour and two checkmates (made by Ron) later, the front door opened and men's voices carried into the room.

"I don't _know_ why. If I did, I wouldn't be worried." This was Sirius, who sounded, to Harry's surprise, almost frantic.

"Calm down," said Lupin's voice. "I'm sure there's a good explanation for it. You're overreacting."

They rounded the corner into the room. Harry looked up. "What's wrong?" he asked concernedly.

Sirius glanced at briefly at Lupin and turned back to face them. "Regulus didn't show up," he said.

"He what?"

"He wasn't there. I waited for an hour and he didn't come. And I have no idea why."

"Where were you supposed to meet him?"

"Grimauld Place. Home, for the first part of our lives. He didn't come."

"I don't think anything happened," Lupin said firmly. "Maybe he's just been detained. You should go back and wait for him. I'll come with you, if you like."

Sirius shook his head, running a hand through his hair. "He would've sent an owl." He sat down at the counter and reached for a glass of water. "Assuming he hasn't changed all that much since I last saw him—"

"A rather farfetched assumption," Lupin remarked dryly.

"—he's always right on time for appointments."

"Sirius, you knew him twenty-two _years_ ago, and he's been through a lot since then. He _has_ changed, whether you like it or not. He's the headmaster of a school. Things come up. He'll probably show up tomorrow and apologize profusely for having missed you."

Sirius still wasn't convinced. "I'm worried," he said, finally, exhaling slowly. "I… I almost had him back, and he's slipped through my fingers again."

"I say we go into Zonkos," Ginny said, pointing to the shop that was a hundred meters down the road. "Fred and George bought it, you know."

"Yeah, I know. Their business really took off well."

"Mum's actually proud of them, even though they didn't go into the Ministry like she wanted them to. Then again, she's not very happy with the Ministry right now."

"Can't say I blame her."

Ginny smiled. After they went into Zonkos, Harry suggested they go to the Three Broomsticks for lunch. Holding hands, they sat down at a table far from the other customers. It was emptier than Harry had ever seen it; firstly, his only visits had been on Hogsmeade weekends for Hogwarts, and secondly, very few people went anywhere they didn't have to go anymore for fear of a Death Eater attack.

After they ordered, they sat in silence for a few moments. Ginny broke it first. "What do you want to do after this mess is all over? Think you'll go back to teaching at Hogwarts?"

Harry smiled. "I haven't thought that far yet. I'm having enough trouble getting from day to day without thinking about the future."

"What _did_ you want to do, then? Before Hogwarts closed and we all got tangled up in this war."

Harry sighed. "I wanted to be an auror," he said finally, "but the way these attacks are happening, they're quickly becoming an endangered species, and since I haven't taken the N.E.W.T.s, I can't really enter auror training." He paused. "What about you? What do you want to do?"

Ginny cocked her head and looked at him strangely, as though she had never pondered the question before. "I guess… I kind of want to play Quidditch, but I don't think I'm good enough for that, and besides, I don't think I would enjoy it for very long. I was thinking… maybe a healer."

Harry nodded. "I can see you doing that."

The door to the Three Broomsticks opened, and Harry looked up. His breath caught in his throat.

Ten figures had entered, shrouded in cloaks and wearing masks. People started screaming. Ginny whirled around to see what was happening, and she ducked as a spell rushed over her head Harry stood up, knocking over his chair and fumbling for his wand.

They were Death Eaters. Here, in Hogsmeade.

Spells hit all the other occupants of the bar within seconds. Harry didn't know whether they were stunned or dead or what, but they were slumped over in their seats, and the Death Eaters were advancing on him. Ginny was standing behind and slightly to the side of him.

"Hello, Potter," one of them rasped. Harry knew that voice; it was Fenrir Greyback, the werewolf who had bitten Lupin and scarred Bill's face. He didn't know why they weren't attacking, but he wasn't going to complain.

"Go, Ginny," he urged. "Take the back exit through the kitchen. I'll hold them off."

"No," she hissed vehemently. "I'm staying."

"How noble," another voice drawled. This one was Lucius Malfoy. "Precious Potter is trying to save his precious girlfriend."

"Go!" he said not taking his eyes off of the Death Eaters in front of him. "Ginny, please!"

She squeezed his hand. "You can't make me," she whispered.

Harry turned his attention from her to the men who were spreading out to surround them. "What do you want?" he demanded.

"What an insolent boy," said another man, this one completely unfamiliar. "I do believe we should punish him for his audacity."

"Oh, yes, let's," hissed another.

Without another word, they attacked.

Harry knew that he and Ginny didn't stand a chance, but he was not about to give up. He erected a shield around them, though he knew it would be shattered with the first five or six spells. Calling upon his Inner Sanctum, he sent it out in furious bursts of energy that were focused into spells. Several fell to his onslaught, but not enough.

The shield splintered, and Harry knew it was over. The next spell hit him in the chest, throwing him backwards onto the floor. Stars erupted in his vision, but he clung desperately to consciousness as thin gray cords wrapped themselves tightly around his body. He tried to Apparate out of it, but try as he might, it didn't work. Ginny had lost her wand, but she was still fighting—kicking, biting, punching, clawing like a cat. A Death Eater seized a handful of her hair and wrenched her head back, while two others twisted her arms behind her. Harry blinked to rid his head of the pain.

"We've got what we wanted," Greyback snarled. "Let's go."

"Wait," said another voice. It was cold and mocking, a woman's.

Harry shuddered. He knew who it was.

Bellatrix came to the fore of the group and pulled aside her mask. Her face was contorted in hatred and a thirst for vengeance. "I want him to suffer," she hissed, "as he made me suffer. _Crucio!_"

Harry would have thought that the pain would be easier to bear each time he was hit with the Cruciatus Curse, but that wasn't the case. He writhed and twisted in his bonds, screaming for a reprieve. It was as though white-hot irons were being pressed into his skin and allowed to burn through his body.

The pain let up, but only briefly—long enough for Bellatrix to laugh maniacally. "You thought you were so powerful, Harry Potter! _Crucio!_"

When the agony lifted this time, Harry was slipping out of consciousness, fast. He could do nothing but moan in anguish as the Death Eaters left him on the floor, dragging Ginny, his Ginny, along with them.

"Harry!" she shouted, still struggling against her captors' iron grips. She bit one hand that had a hold on her arm, but there were plenty more to take its place. "Harry!"

But he could do nothing. She was gone.

I showed I cared about her, and they took her… 

And then he faded into blackness.

A/N: I _told_ you it wasn't about to get better.


	45. The Horcruxes

School's out!! Finally! I'm still worried about how much my chemistry final affected my grade, but at least there's nothing I can do about it… So I'm writing a chapter to celebrate. Yay for me.

Disclaimer: JK Rowling owns the Harry Potter world. I am not JK Rowling. Deductive reasoning says that I, therefore, do not own the Harry Potter world.

Chapter 45

The Horcruxes

"We've got to _do_ something!"

Harry practically screamed in frustration. He was pacing furiously up and down the kitchen of the Burrow, running his hands through his hair, muttering curses, and trying to think of something other than the one thought that had been running through his mind since he had regained consciousness that afternoon.

_They took Ginny._

Sirius sat at the table, running a hand through his hair. "Calm _down, _Harry. We've done everything we can."

"But it's not enough," he said despairingly. He leaned his forehead against the wall, trying to calm his quaking nerves and soothe the adrenaline rushing through his limbs. _Being wired and jumpy isn't going to help her, _he reprimanded himself firmly.

"Remus has gone to get her parents, and I've sent out an owl for a meeting tomorrow."

"Tomorrow isn't soon enough," Harry snapped.

"Be reasonable," Sirius admonished. "You know how hard it is to call meetings even three days in advance. Someone can't make it and wants it rescheduled, or something happens to put it off…."

"The Order won't do anything," Harry said darkly. "They'll just fight and argue over what _should_ be done."

"Well, what do you want _me_ to do about it?" Sirius shouted angrily, finally losing his temper. "Remus and I have tried for _months_ to fix the problems with the Order, but it's crumbling faster than we can patch it up! It's falling apart at the seams! Do you think I want Ginny to die any more than you do?"

Harry was silent, glaring darkly at nothing in particular. Then an idea occurred to him.

"Malfoy," he said. "I need to talk to Malfoy."

Draco Malfoy had won the trust of the Order in general, but he was still on the run from Voldemort. He had nowhere to go, and consequentially, he stayed. Nobody had objected when he had adopted a bedroom in Grimauld Place, and he had been there ever since, rarely emerging and even more rarely speaking to anyone.

Before Sirius could argue, Harry Disapparated and found himself standing on the street outside of Number 12, Grimauld Place, London. Taking the porch steps two at a time, he strode inside and up two flights of stairs, to a door at the end of the hall. He pounded on it. "Malfoy!"

The door opened, and a rather irritated-looking, pale face appeared. "Calm down, Potter, before you wet yourself. What do you want?"

"Where does Voldemort stay?" he demanded. "Where does he keep his prisoners?"

Malfoy laughed incredulously. "Are you kidding, Potter? You actually think he would have _told _me something like that?" He turned around and crossed to a desk in the corner unconcernedly. "I'm flattered, though, that you would think me powerful enough to be so high in his ranks."

"It wasn't a compliment," Harry snarled, following him into the room. "Tell me."

Malfoy examined his fingernails in silence for a moment, and then he looked up. "Do you think," he said softly, "that the Dark Lord is so _stupid_ as to make his location known to all of his Death Eaters? Not all of them are trustworthy." He spread his arms. "A prime example, right before your eyes."

"You… you don't know."

"That's what I just told you."

Harry slammed his fist into the wall, overcome by grief and rage and anguish. He couldn't think clearly. Malfoy was asking what had happened, but he didn't listen. Sobs shook his body, and try as he might to stop them, the tears came.

He didn't know how long he stood there, facing the wall, trying to overcome his emotions, but it felt like an eternity. Malfoy had desisted in his inquiries, and Harry was left alone to think. Not that he_ could_ think, at least not without a thick white fog encompassing his mind every time he thought with despair of Ginny.

"Hey, Potter."

Malfoy's voice was distant and muffled, as though speaking from behind a wall, but it was enough to pull Harry from his reverie. He turned slowly to face him.

Malfoy held up his arm, on which stood a coal black owl. Harry started; he'd never seen a black owl like this. His companion looked grim.

"It's addressed to you," he said dryly.

"Why do you look so miserable?"

Malfoy shrugged. "Just that the only times I've seen black owls, they were addressed to my father, and whenever he got one, he'd leave the manor and not come back until late at night, and there was always something in the papers the next day about an attack on Muggles."

Whatever color was left in Harry's face drained out of it. He hesitantly accepted the owl from Malfoy's forearm and untied the scroll that was attached to its leg. "You… you think it's from Voldemort?" he asked hoarsely, gazing apprehensively at the parchment in his hand.

The owl took off, and with a screech like a bad omen, soared through the open window and out into the twilight.

"No way to tell but to open it," Malfoy remarked, though he looked rather shaky, and he backed away as Harry broke the seal.

Without a warning, the parchment burst into vivid green flames. Harry withdrew his hand with a sharp intake of breath, letting go of the burning parchment, but it did not fall to the ground. Instead, it hovered at about chest height in the air, looking like something unworldly in the semi-darkness of dusk. Harry backed away slowly.

"What is it?" Malfoy whispered fearfully.

As if in answer, the flames suddenly exploded into a ball of eerie green light. Harry threw up a hand to shield his eyes, and he was momentarily blinded. When he blinked away the pain of the sudden flash, he found himself face to face with the gray shadow. His breath caught in his throat.

The shadow was of a tall man, with slits for nostrils and cat-like eyes. He had ghastly long fingers and, even though the rest of his body was a colorless shadow, he had vivid, burning, piercing red eyes.

_Hello, Harry,_ the shadow said, smiling coldly.

Harry looked wildly around. The voice did not enter his ears, but penetrated the very recesses of his mind. He could only watch with an awed, terrified sort of feeling as the figure addressed him.

_I find myself in possession of something of great value to you._

"Ginny," Harry whispered.

_I've also come to the knowledge that you have obtained several things that belong to me._

It seemed as though he had just been drenched in a bucket of ice water. He staggered back, a leaden feeling sinking into his stomach. _He knows about the Horcruxes._

_Indeed, my young friend,_ the shadow answered, reading his mind. _However, I am willing to make a trade. Six small items in exchange for Miss Weasley. _

Harry could only shake his head dumbly.

If you decide she is more valuable to you than they, bring them to the place where this all began. I expect you tonight, Master Potter.

The shadow began to crumble like ashes, falling to the floor in a heap. In a moment, there was nothing left save for a small pile of black cinders on the floor.

Harry couldn't breathe. His mind was racing, flailing, drowning in a confused frenzy of grief and hatred and, predominantly, fear.

Ginny or the Horcruxes…

His rational mind had suddenly gone insane. A thick fog was shrouding his senses, and he stumbled towards the door without a word to Malfoy, who looked petrified, frozen to the wall.

Ginny or the Horcruxes…

The tears blinded him as he stumbled down the stairs and towards the door. Someone called his name, but he paid no heed. Mrs. Black's shrieks followed him out the front door, but he hardly heard them.

He had no doubt as to what "the place where this all began" was. He didn't know what it looked like, but he knew where to look. The Burrow was empty when he got there; he didn't care where everyone had gone. He dashed upstairs and yanked a leather-bound photo album out from under his bed. Flipping frantically through the pages, he finally landed on the one he wanted.

It wouldn't look the same anymore, but it was still the same place. With a final sob of agony, he Disapparated.

Ginny or the Horcruxes…


	46. Godric's Hollow

Sorry to make you wait for this one. I know it's hard, at least if you're involved in the story, because the climax is coming up. I also feel compelled to apologize for the suffocating number of cliffhangers I've been dishing out lately—I know it's dirty and filthy and hypocritical because I am _not_ a fan of cliffhangers when it comes to reading, but you have to admit: they _are_ the best way to end a chapter.

Disclaimer: …why do I even need this? This is fanfiction, people. It's copied, alright?

Chapter 46

Godric's Hollow

Moss had covered the shattered stones and rotting beams, and grass had sprung up in the holes in the wreckage, wrapping itself around the rubble that had long since been forgotten. All it was now was a jumble of stones and broken boards and bits of plastic scattered throughout the lot, piled where a house had once stood, a house that had been destroyed sixteen years ago.

The place where it all began… 

He stood in Godric's Hollow.

Harry swallowed hard as he gazed through the darkening night at the wreckage. He could not afford to let his tears affect his vision, but he felt them burning behind his eyes. Forcing them back, he moved forward.

Here there was half of a door, here a faucet that looked as though it were part of a kitchen sink. He nudged a splintered two-by-four beam with his toe, but the years had tied it to the ground with mud and grass, and it would not budge. He groped in his memory for some vague remembrance, something that would bring the decimated house back to life for a moment, but there was nothing. All he could see were his parents' faces, smiling at him from somewhere in his mind. Even this was not an image from the one blissful year he had spent here—it came from the Mirror of Erised he had seen in his first year—but it gave him comfort nonetheless.

The final tinge of blue was fading from the eastern sky, and the world was dark. Harry gazed up at the canopy of stars that blanketed the earth and wondered vaguely if the world was the only one that sustained life in the universe. _It's a pity, _he thought sadly, _that we're heading for destruction with Voldemort gaining power like he is. There are so many limitless possibilities out there that we'll never get a chance to explore because we're too busy killing each other off. Human beings can be awfully cruel to one another._

"Harry Potter."

Harry whirled around, gripping his wand tightly. When he saw who stood there, his eyes narrowed into a fiery glare. "Lord Voldemort."

The tall man bowed mockingly. "At your service." He began to stroll lazily around his enemy. Harry did not turn to watch him, but he seized the magic in the air around him to tell him where Voldemort was and to warn him if he let off a spell.

"You've grown since the last time we met here," Voldemort said dryly, coming back into Harry's line of view. "Your parents would be proud."

"I believe we came here to make a transaction," Harry said harshly. He had stopped being afraid after his opponent's first appearance; he knew there was a very good chance that he would not emerge from Godric's Hollow alive, but it did not faze him. There were things that were worse than death.

"Indeed we did," Voldemort smirked. He snapped his fingers.

There was a howl of wind, a flash of light, and at his side appeared a red-headed, fiery-looking figure. _Ginny._

Her wrists were bound behind her back and her hair was tousled, but she looked unharmed. Voldemort's long, spidery, ghostly fingers were around the back of her neck. "Do you have what I asked for?" he hissed.

Harry nodded, glancing worriedly at Ginny. She was shaking, and she looked terrified, but her eyes blazed all the same. He tore his eyes off her face and returned them to the pale, flat one beside her. He waved his hand, and in it appeared Ravenclaw's timeturner.

The small, golden hourglass lay in his open palm, a representation of what he had spent the last year seeking. Was he to give it up now, now at the moment of triumph when he had them all? They had finally completed the quest Albus Dumbledore had died for, and Harry knew that throwing it all away now would make it as if he had died for nothing.

_Can I do that?_

Can I let Ginny die? 

_We found them once, _he snapped at himself, _we can find them again. _

"There are more," Voldemort said. "Five more."

"Two have been destroyed," Harry spat. He saw a flash in those red eyes—was it hatred? Fear? Anger?—but a moment later, it was quelled and Voldemort smiled.

"You are stronger than I gave you credit for, Harry," he sneered. "Show me the others."

Harry returned the timeturner to his Deposito and called up the staff, the locket, and the cup in quick succession, making them all disappear just as rapidly. He folded his arms and stood firmly with his feet apart. "I've brought them," he said angrily. "Now let her go."

The man chuckled, a soft, chilling laugh that made Harry shiver, and suddenly his senses went wild. What was he doing here? He had walked into a trap, and there was nothing to stop Voldemort killing him save for a fear of being unable to retrieve the Horcruxes if Harry was dead. But as soon as he turned them over… what then? How could he possibly expect the most evil, treacherous, deceitful wizard in centuries to honor a promise that they could walk free?

His mind raced, summoning all the possibilities, and it came up dry. There was nothing he could do. He could leave now, but then Ginny would die. He could hand over the Horcruxes, but then they would probably _both _die and Voldemort would be back in possession of his most prized belongings. Or he could fight, struggle in a losing battle that he had no chance of winning.

_But Voldemort wouldn't get the Horcruxes,_ he thought desperately, _and it would give Ginny time…_

That was all the motivation he needed. He had made his decision. With deep breath, he raised his wand.

_I'm not coming away alive. But I can give Ginny a chance._

The Dark Lord laughed again. "You want to fight, do you? Very well, then." He reached over and rubbed his left forearm.

Harry nearly swore. _It was a trap. He's called his Death Eaters and now even Ginny won't get away._

_Then we'll die together._

Dark, swooping shapes that looked hardly different from the inky hue of the black sky began appearing around him. Ten seconds after Voldemort had made his move, Harry was surrounded by thirty Death Eaters, each with a wand pointed directly at his head.

"Try to fight me, Potter," Voldemort whispered. "Just like your dear father."

Harry had kept his Inner Sanctum ready throughout the night, but now he reached out and pulled at the air for magic. He would need all that he could get.

A spell flew from his enemy, hitting the shield he had erected around himself. He didn't know how he expected to attack such a powerful wizard as the one he faced, but he was resolved to do his best. He sent the strongest spell he knew, backed by all the magic he could draw from the air. "_Venniflammus!_" he screamed.

An enormous jet of white-hot fire shot out of Harry's wand like a bolt of lightning and struck his opponent directly in the chest. A spell like that would have killed a normal man, but Voldemort only took a step back and laughed. He pushed Ginny towards his Death Eaters, who grabbed her tightly and held her in iron grips, and he slowly approached Harry.

"You are powerful, Harry Potter," he hissed, "but not powerful enough to be anything but a thorn in my side. _Crucio!_"

Harry blocked the spell and returned with his own. Dumbledore had performed this two years previously while fighting the same man, and it had not worked, but Harry could think of nothing else. "_Vennaqui!_"

A ball of water conjured itself around Voldemort, wrapping around until he was completely suspended in the liquid. Harry held it, pouring all of his magic and the air's magic and the earth's magic into it, and for a moment it seemed as though he had succeeded. But then the water burst, crashing to the ground and sloshing away into the grass, and Voldemort stood there, not even wet.

"I tire of this," he hissed, and he made a waving motion with his hand.

In a second, ten Death Eaters were all over him, grasping his hair, holding his arms, and twisting his neck until he felt like something was going to break. Someone grasped his wand, yanked it away, and snapped it in half. He could not move an inch. He tried to use a shock of magic to repel them, but he found to his horror that he could not find his Inner Sanctum. Desperately, he reached out for the magic in the air, but it was as though it were nonexistent. He struggled in vain against his captors, and Voldemort laughed cruelly. "Your magic doesn't work because I don't _want_ it to work," he leered. "I can stop your ability to fight with a simple spell."

Voldemort crossed to Ginny and untied the gag. A long, white finger caressed her face, and she shuddered involuntarily. Harry jerked, but he could not tear himself free.

"Ginny Weasley," he hissed, drawing his wand. "My captive again, I see. The offer I made five years ago, when you were obligingly spilling all of your secrets, still stands."

"And the answer I gave five years ago still stands. I will never be your servant."

"Your brother was so gracious as to accept."

Ginny blanched, glancing wildly around. Voldemort motioned to one of the Death Eaters in his circle, who stepped nervously forward and took off his mask. Though the only light came from the stars and an almost-full moon, Harry could very clearly see the face of Percy Weasley.

Ginny gazed into his face, silently imploring him to contradict all of the evidence against him, but he shook his head slowly and stepped back into line. Harry could hardly believe it; he had never liked Percy, but he had never thought him capable of joining Voldemort.

"Very well, Ginny, if you refuse…" he twirled his wand lazily, a cold smile crossing his features. "_Crucio!_" he shouted.

Ginny screamed, and Harry screamed with her, shouting for it to stop, knowing, understanding, hating her agony. It felt worse than any of the times he had experienced, and he tried to get to her, but all his struggles were fruitless.

She collapsed under the anguish, twisting and writhing as Voldemort mercilessly held the spell. Harry yelled, shouted, bit, kicked, and punched, but he could not wrench himself free.

Finally, Voldemort raised his wand, and Ginny lay panting, moaning on the ground. He turned towards Harry. "Give them to me."

Harry could only shake his head dumbly, thinking of the Horcruxes in his Deposito. He did not know what to do. Voldemort returned his wand to Ginny.

The Cruciatus Curse resumed, and Harry felt every second of torture. He would willingly have taken it all on himself if he could have, but he knew that this was exactly why Voldemort was torturing Ginny, not him; he knew right where it would hurt.

The spell was lifted once again, and once again, Voldemort demanded the Horcruxes. Once again, Harry could only refuse.

He sobbed as the bolt of light flew from Voldemort's wand a third time. He had come here with no intention other than giving the Horcruxes in exchange for Ginny's life, but the more rational part of his mind was back in control and he knew—he knew—there was no way he could just give them up. Not when they were the key to saving so many other lives.

But Ginny was screaming…

"Alright!" Harry gasped, fighting the sobs that wracked his frame. Voldemort lifted the spell and held up a finger, and the Death Eaters released their struggling captive. Harry stumbled away, summoned all four of them at once and tossed them to the ground and the Dark Lord's feet.

"Have them," he spat bitterly, "and let us go." He started towards Ginny.

Voldemort's lip curled up in malice. "Let you go?" he asked softly. "Now, when I have you and my victory at the tip of my fingers?"

A leaden feeling sank into Harry's stomach as he knelt beside Ginny and pulled her against him, feeling her rapid heartbeat, shallow breathing, and painful sobs. She cried into his chest, and he held her close as Voldemort advanced on them. "Congratulations, Ginny," the thin, white lips hissed. "Your lover has bought you a painless death."

"We're going to die," he muttered into her hair, turning his attention fully to her, momentarily forgetting the Death Eaters and the Dark Lord himself.

"I know," she said softly.

Then kissed her, relishing every last moment he had, not caring that the Death Eaters were jeering or that his face was wet with tears. "Will you marry me?"

"When we meet again," she whispered.

They looked up at the same time. Voldemort was standing above them, his wand pointing down. Harry moved in front of Ginny, but a Death Eater kicked him out of the way and pressed his foot against his chest, pinning him to the ground.

Harry could only watch in silent fear and agony and hatred and anguish, terrible, wrenching anguish, his magic still blocked off, as Voldemort aimed his wand at Ginny's chest. He saw as if in slow motion, the cruel, cold, merciless lips move, forming the words. Sound had deserted him; all seemed utterly silent, but he knew what the spell was.

"_Avada Kedavra!_"

She looked at him one last time, and her own mouth whispered, "I love you."

The green bolt of light hit her directly in the chest, and her body slumped.

And Harry screamed.


	47. The Battle

No, you didn't read that wrong. Yes, I killed Ginny. It's a good thing that allows for the obscurity of anonymity, otherwise I might have some of you out for my blood. If it makes you feel better, at least this isn't the real thing. Do any of you have trouble killing off characters? I certainly do. I cried when I wrote that last chapter, you know. Gah! I'm terrible….

Chapter 47

The Battle

His thoughts seemed frozen. He knew he had to do something, knew he could not just _sit _there for another second, but he could not fight his way past the scene in his mind, replaying itself before his eyes again and again and again. The last few seconds would be burned in his memory forever, branded there like a scar to be borne for all eternity. He wanted to forget, he wanted to push it away like it had never happened, he wanted to turn his head and see her standing there, grinning impishly down at him, but it would all be a hallucination, a deception… a lie.

In the end, she was still gone.

Something snapped inside of him. He saw Voldemort coolly picking up the Horcruxes from where Harry had tossed them to the ground, and, for the first time in six years, he was truly unafraid. He no longer cared, no longer wanted to go on living; he only wanted to bring this monster, this demon, this infernal bastard down with him. He tried to push against the foot that forced him into the ground, but it seemed like an anvil weighing him down, and he struggled to no avail. His magic was still blocked, but he knew he had to get to it. He fought and pushed at the barrier that kept him from his Inner Sanctum, but it was in vain. Voldemort was too powerful.

Voldemort had won.

_He's going to kill me,_ Harry thought bitterly. His rational mind suddenly returned with sharper clarity than before, and with it rushed in the realization that in one fell swoop, Voldemort had swept all obstacles from his path. All the Dark Lord had to do was mutter one curse, the same curse he had cast hundreds of times, and there would be a flash of green light, and it would all be over.

_The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies…_

He was the only one, the prophecy said, the only one who could stop the immortal evil that had blanketed the land. And now, he was going to die.

"Do you want to know how I found out that you knew about these, Harry?" the cold voice asked conversationally, holding up the Horcruxes.

Harry closed his eyes and tried to block out the sound. The truth was, however, that despite the amount of anguish he was in, he wanted to know.

"Look, Potter, and behold."

Harry turned his head and cracked open his eyes. On the grass beside Voldemort knelt a broken, bruised, and defeated Regulus Black. Harry groaned. How he had gotten there, he had no idea, but he didn't care. Regulus had told Voldemort everything. Willingly or unwillingly, it had ended in this…

"As accomplished an Occlumens as Master Black is," Voldemort spat, "he could not keep me from his mind. He showed me everything, Harry. Everything about his past, his desertion, and your little meetings."

Harry met Regulus' eyes, and they were full of sorrow and regret and self-loathing. Harry now knew why he had not shown up to meet Sirius the night before. It struck him that if they had not rescued Sirius, Regulus wouldn't have come back into the country, and none of this would have happened. _It's too late now, _he reprimanded himself sharply. _He's been captured and he's given it all away. _How he had been captured or even discovered was beyond Harry, but it didn't matter now.

Nothing matters now… 

He tried to think clearly as Voldemort took the Horcruxes into his hands. The timeturner and the locket he strung around his neck, and the cup he hung from a cord around his waste. He kept Gryffindor's staff in hand and turned from Harry to face Regulus.

"This staff," he hissed, "holds a power more great and terrible than you can imagine. You think the Killing Curse is bad? What if you had to suffer first? What if you got hit by a spell, and you knew that you had fifteen minutes of long, torturous agony before it was all over?"

"Then I'd bear it," Regulus spat, "and I'd hope that one day, you might meet the same fate."

Voldemort leveled the staff to Regulus' chest. "Let us test your forbearance, then," he whispered.

The light that sprang from the tip of the staff was a vivid, brilliant green, ten times brighter than _Avada Kedavra_. Harry, helpless, could only watch once more as another met his death at the hands of the man apparently only Harry had the ability to defeat.

The bolt struck Regulus in the stomach, and he grunted, keeling over. His hands were bound behind his back, but they shook in agony as his face paled. Sixty seconds was all it took before his body was wracked in violent spasms.

Fifteen minutes… 

Harry adverted his eyes after the first three. Regulus' screams ripped through his soul, tearing at his heart, but there was nothing he could do. His magic was still blocked, and physically he was no match for the Death Eater holding him down.

He felt numb as the wails finally died away. He knew that Regulus was dead, but he could not bring himself to look in his direction. He felt nothing, nothing but an empty void where all feeling had been. Most of it had been stripped away when Voldemort pointed his wand for the last time at Ginny, and the rest of it had gone with Regulus' death.

"Look at me, Harry Potter," Voldemort's voice hissed.

Harry raised his eyes to gaze into the red ones that stared mockingly down at him. They were cold and merciless and triumphant, and another wave of sickening grief washed over Harry. _He's won, _he thought. _After all this time, after all the pain, the fighting, the mourning, it all comes to this… We lost. We lost. We lost._

"Stand up," Voldemort spat, waving to the Death Eater to stop pressing his foot into Harry's chest. "Stand up and fight me like a man."

Harry heaved himself from the ground, and he felt his numbness slowly changing into an uncontrollable, unafraid, and unrestrained rage. He did not bother to look for his wand, knowing it had been snapped in half some time ago. He felt the wall that blockaded his Inner Sanctum come crumbling down, and he let his magic rush to his fingertips. He couldn't win, but he was ready.

Voldemort raised his staff, and Harry tensed himself. If the force of the spell that had hit Regulus was any indication, he didn't stand a chance. But his father's voice was running again and again through his mind, reiterating what Harry knew he had to do.

"Lily, take Harry and run! I'll hold him off!" 

He was going to go down fighting, like his father had, trying to protect his wife and son. Ginny was dead; he had no one to die trying to save, but he was going to give it his all anyway.

Harry could almost see the magic pooling at the end of Gryffindor's staff, ready to strike. He watched as, almost in slow motion, the bolt of vivid green light shot out of the end, and he readied himself for the pain. _Fifteen minutes,_ he thought. _I only have to bear fifteen more minutes, and then it will be over. And I can rest. I can finally rest…_

But just as Harry braced himself to feel a sickening wave of agony, a dark shape flung itself in front of him, absorbing the beam of light and thudding to the ground a few feet away. Harry shook himself out of his daze and blinked at the figure on the ground.

Voldemort looked livid. "You," he hissed, enraged. He crossed to the man on the ground, who had jumped from the Death Eaters' ranks, and yanked off the mask, slamming it into the ground and grinding it under his heel.

Harry gazed at the man in amazement. Hatred and agony written all over his face, Severus Snape glowered up at him in bitter anguish.

"You," Harry gasped. "You saved…"

"I saved your life, yes," he spat savagely as the spell began to take hold. "Not for you, but for the rest of the wizarding world. If you die, no one has a chance. You're the only one who can kill _him._"

"You want Voldemort… dead?"

"You fool, Potter," he hissed. His body was twisting and jerking, and gasps of pain punctured his words. "You were too blind to see… too blind…"

"You saved my life so that I can defeat Voldemort?" This was too much for Harry to handle. He stumbled backwards. Apparently, Voldemort was just as astounded, but his feelings were not limited to shock. He was enraged.

"Traitor," he hissed. "I took you in, gave you status where you didn't deserve it, and you're a traitor… _half-blood._"

The insult didn't faze Snape, though whether that was because he didn't care or because he was in too much pain to hear, Harry didn't know. He couldn't absorb it. "You killed Dumbledore," he accused angrily. "You _killed_ him."

"Because _he_ wanted it," Snape snarled, doubling over. "He knew he was dying, and he knew that I had made the Unbreakable Vow. He didn't want _me_ to die."

"You killed him," Harry repeated.

"I was fully prepared to _die_ for him!" he roared, clutching his stomach as his frame shook wildly. "I knew that by swearing to help Draco Malfoy, I was signing my own death sentence! But he wouldn't have it." His lips twitched into a pained semblance of a sneer. "He wouldn't just let me die. The noble old fool made me swear that I would kill him rather than break my Vow.

"You killed him," Harry whispered.

"Shut up! You fool, Potter, you're as arrogant as your father ever was! Why do you think I saved your life just now? It was because I couldn't save Dumbledore's. Dumbledore, the only one who ever gave me a second chance, the only one who ever saw any good in me, other than your mother! I didn't do it for you, Potter. I couldn't care less if you died. I did it because Dumbledore would have—"

He broke off as a scream of anguish wrenched itself from his lips, and he began writhing and twisting on the ground. Harry took a step back, shaking his head dumbly. There was nothing he could do, and his own thoughts were so jumbled in his head he doubted he would have done anything even if he had been able to. Voldemort seemed to have forgotten him momentarily; he was staring down at Snape, a mixture of fury and amusement twisted across his flat face.

Suddenly, they were surrounded by popping noises. People were Apparating all around them. Harry ducked as a spell flew over his head. The circle of Death Eaters shattered, and Harry fought his way towards the edge of the scene that had turned into chaos. _Who are they?_ he thought.

Then he caught a glimpse of one person's face, reflected in the silvery light of the almost-full moon. It was Sirius.

The Order was here.

And more than just the Order. Many people Harry had never seen before began appearing, sending spells off as soon as they arrived. Attention was no longer fixed on Harry, so he made his way towards Sirius.

"Who is everyone else?" he shouted to him, dispatching a Death Eater. He forced his mind away from the events of the last several minutes.

Sirius glanced Harry's way, then did a double take. "Oh, thank God," he muttered, moving to stand by him, "you're alright. We thought…"

"This isn't just the Order," Harry observed, pulling away from the fray. It was chaotic; spells were flying, people were shouting, and the ruins of Harry's parents' house were the cause of a lot of stumbling and cursing.

"The Ministry of Magic had a small volunteer army at the ready. We alerted them as soon as we found out where you had gone…"

"How'd you know?" Harry demanded. He didn't really care. He didn't care about much of anything anymore.

"Malfoy said that as you left the room you muttered 'where it all began.' Ron and Hermione guessed instantly that it meant here."

Harry didn't respond, instead glaring determinedly into the conflict. It seemed as though more Death Eaters and more Ministry supporters were arriving by the second, and before long, it was a fully-fledged battle.

He could see bodies fall to the ground, but they didn't faze him. Without another word to Sirius, he stepped back into the battle. He had decided that there was only one thing left for him to do.

The spells flew thick around his head, bright jets of light of all colors. However, there was only one place where brilliant flashes of emerald lit up the sky, and Harry knew who must be there. That was his destination.

He was going to end this, once and for all.


	48. The Lord of Darkness

Almost done… This'll have exactly fifty chapters, just so you know. Enjoy!

Chapter 48

The Lord of Darkness

Harry fought his way through the flurry of spells, holding a tight shield around himself. His mind was focused on one thing and one thing only: Lord Voldemort.

The ground was littered with bodies. Harry winced as he stepped over them, refusing to look at their faces for fear that he would see someone he knew. He vaguely wondered how the Muggles in the village failed to notice the battle waging down the street, but he brushed the thought off in favor of more important matters. He hadn't seen Ron and Hermione, but maybe that was good—maybe the Order hadn't let them come, and they were sitting safely at home. He knew that _they _wouldn't be happy with that, but it made him feel better.

Slowly but surely, he made his way towards the brightest flashes of light. Lord Voldemort stood a full head over the tallest of those around him, and he was a terrible sight to behold. His pale face was made even whiter by the shine of the moon, and his glaringly red eyes burned with an unfathomable expression. He moved at the head of a group of Death Eaters who had rallied around him, and, like the towering thundercloud that heads a storm, he swept through his enemies as though they were simple blades of grass. Harry saw wave after wave of wizards and witches fall prey to the flashing staff that he wielded; he heard the screams of those hit by the new Killing Curse; he smelled the sickening odor of burning flesh. He forced it all out of his mind and focused on one goal, the monster who was at the center of it all, enjoying every moment of pain he inflicted.

He shouldered his way past a Death Eater who had been distracted by his legs, which had suddenly broken into a tap dance, and found himself face to face with the very nemesis that he had been seeking. His Inner Sanctum exploded inside him, aching to be released, but he kept it steady and held his ground as Voldemort caught sight of him. His lips curled into a cruel smile, and he waved at the Death Eaters around him to leave. Without another word, they melted into the havoc around them.

"So, Harry Potter!" he laughed callously, and the earth seemed to shake with his shoulders. "The Prophecy is to be fulfilled tonight!"

"Indeed," Harry answered quietly, his magic dancing at his fingertips. "You or I must die. Tonight."

Voldemort bowed mockingly. "Be my guest."

The staff erupted, and a beam of purple light shot out the end. Harry released his magic, which sprung into life and deflected the spell right back at its originator. Voldemort held up the staff, which simply absorbed it again. Harry countered with a spell of his own, the most powerful one he could think of, and the duel was on.

Voldemort had the advantage. Between the staff and his far superior knowledge of the Dark Arts, he was bound to be the victor. He pressed Harry further and further back, until they reached the edge of the battle, and then even further, carrying them into the woods.

The attacks were growing faster. Harry shot off one spell after another, constantly blocking and dodging the ones that were sent his way. The sounds of the battle in the distance were fading, and Harry knew that they were completely alone. He called on the magic of the air, of the earth, of the trees around him, and his spells had more force than he had ever put in them before. He poured all of his ability, all of his concentration, and all of his hope into this one battle, this one struggle for victory. Voldemort smiled coolly the entire time, but Harry wasn't fooled; he could see the panic in his eyes. The mighty Dark Lord was afraid.

Deeper and deeper into the woods, they fought. Voldemort kept pressing him back, and Harry never gained a step. It wasn't long before Harry found himself backed up against a cold metal gate.

He drew a breath, casting his mind around for options. There was only one thing he could do. With a leap, he seized the top of the railing, narrowly avoiding a spell that sailed over his head, and swung himself over, landing heavily on the ground but managing to retain his balance. He blessed his luck that he was still alive; that had been a bold move. Voldemort was now on the other side of the fence, and Harry knew he wasn't about to climb over. Instead, he grinned and walked straight through the iron bars, no damage done to either the fence or his body. Harry hardly bothered to wonder how; it didn't matter.

He backed into something else, this one cold, hard stone, and he realized with a quick glance around where he was. This was a graveyard, not so unlike the one he had fought Voldemort in three long years ago. Headstones shattered as spells hit them, and Harry leapt backwards over them, never turning his back on his opponent.

Fury and desperation were taking over. He had a very slim chance of survival, but he wouldn't—he couldn't—settle with failure. His mind turned over every evil this monster had committed against him, calling up painful memories that usually he longed to forget but now only fuelled his adrenaline. His parents' deaths, his years with the Dursleys, his unwanted fame, his fights and struggles through his Hogwarts years, the deaths of all of the Order members, Regulus, Arionna Pusey, Professor McGonagall, Professor Dumbledore, and Ginny, his Ginny… all of them had been brought about by this monstrosity. Harry's determination doubled. His spells increased in intensity as he grabbed at every scrap of magic he could feel.

Voldemort was laughing now. "You're failing, Harry Potter!" he cackled, blasting off another spell. Harry ducked, but he stumbled and fell against a large headstone shaped like a prism lying on its side. He fumbled his next spell, and it flew off in the wrong direction.

Voldemort had him caught.

The staff pointed at his chest.

"You have fought bravely," Voldemort sneered quietly. The sounds of the battle raging in the distance were muted, as though coming from another world entirely. "You have excelled more in magic than I would have believed possible. You would have made a good partner, Harry Potter, had you not been so obstinate and stubborn."

Harry found his magic blocked for the second time that night. He wrenched at the walls around it, fighting, clawing at them, but he could not tear them down.

_He wins._

Voldemort's lips curled into a malicious smile. "Ironic, is it, the place where you're going to die." He motioned to the headstone.

Harry whirled around, his eyes blurring suddenly as he read the names.

_James Potter Lily Potter  
__In a word, there are three things  
__that last forever:  
__Faith, Hope, and Love.  
__But the greatest of them all is  
__Love_

He saw Voldemort's lips sneer as he raised his staff. He saw the green light pooling around the tip. He saw those red eyes, and something inside of him burst.

As the light shot towards his chest, he charged through the walls that blocked his magic and seized it, snatching at every wisp of the power that he could grasp. He pulled it all together in one ball, not worrying about the Killing Curse that was speeding towards him, not caring that he was about to die. There was an Evanescent spell he remembered reading about, one that had something to do with love. He remembered Hermione's words, so long ago in the library at the Ministry:

"Amor, the root of Amoria, means love…" 

His own magic was twisting and whirling inside of him, and the magic he had seized in his surroundings was crackling with anticipation. Drawing a deep breath, he released it.

"_AMORIA!_"

A brilliant white light shot out of the palms of his hands and struck the green bolt head on. It engulfed it and continued in its path, not a bit dimmer than it had been originally. The green one completely disappeared. Harry saw Voldemort's eyes widen in fear and shock as the bolt hit him directly in the chest. He didn't stop pouring his magic into it, kept it going, and the light continued. He stumbled to his feet.

"This is for my parents!" he shouted, sending a powerful pulse of magic into the spell. The beam blazed momentarily, and Voldemort stepped back in shock, unable to do anything but stare at the spell attacking his chest.

"This is for Dumbledore!" Another wave ricocheted into the beam, and Harry felt the power blazing. Voldemort twisted and writhed, sinking to the ground.

"This for Ginny!" The magic was ripping around inside him, yearning to be released. He sent another pulse into the spell, and Voldemort screamed.

"And this," Harry spat, tears falling from his eyes, reflecting the light of the brilliant spell, "this is for _me!_"

With a final effort, Harry poured all of his energy, all of his power, all of his magic into the spell. It surged with a blinding light, and Harry squinted against it, but he kept his palms pointed at Voldemort. The man's body shook violently, and he screamed aloud as Harry focused all his might into the beam. He could feel his magic draining, he could feel himself growing weaker and weaker, but he refused to relinquish the spell. He kept his palms facing outward, kept the magic charging into it, until not a drop remained. His exhaustion was more than a physical tiredness; he was weary, weary of fighting the world. With one last surge, he let go of the spell and sank to his knees.

Voldemort wasn't there. Where he had been only moments before lay a pile of ashes, a polished wooden staff on top of them, and the glint of a golden locket half-buried in the black dust.

Harry heard the distant rumble of thunder, and he felt the gentle, cleansing, purifying drops of a light rain hit his face. He turned his countenance to the sky, blessing the water as it ran down his cheeks and washed away his tears.

_It's over… I won. I won. We won._

The wind picked up a swirl of the ashes, blowing them away to the four winds.

The Lord of Darkness was no more.


	49. Propero Luminarium

I don't think you're going to like this chapter much… but try to restrain your rage and your urge to kill me once you're done.

Chapter 49

Propero Luminarium

Gray streaks shot through the eastern sky. The night was fading.

When the brilliant flash of white light lit up the sky, everyone paused. Spells stopped flying, people stopped shouting. It was coming from the direction of the woods, and no one knew what it was.

Ron and Hermione exchanged glances. Simultaneously, they mouthed one word at each other: "Harry."

They hadn't seen him, but they knew he was here. Without another word, they began weaving their way through the silent masses, Death Eaters, Ministry volunteers, and Order members alike staring in awe at the blinding light flashing up from the trees. The two friends broke away and started running towards its source.

It grew brighter as they drew nearer, and after a moment, it ceased entirely. It had begun to rain, and they couldn't see much in front of them. They climbed over a fence, swung down on the other side, and looked nervously at each other.

They were in a graveyard. Tombstones, some of them shattered, were scattered throughout the grassy expanse, and glistening rain gave them an eerie look. Hermione looked nervously at Ron. "What do you think happened?" she whispered.

He shrugged and took a few apprehensive steps forward, peering into the night around them. His eyes narrowed momentarily, and he gestured to a dark shape crouching beside a tombstone halfway through the cemetery. They broke into a run towards it.

Harry Potter crouched there, digging through a pile of ashes. He withdrew a golden hourglass and plunged his hands back in, emerging again with Hufflepuff's cup.

"Harry," Ron said hoarsely.

The figure looked up slowly. "Hello, Ron."

"What happened?" Hermione asked softly, kneeling beside him and picking up the cup. She turned it over in her hands.

"He's gone," he whispered. "It's over."

They exchanged another look. "He's… he's gone?" Hermione repeated, unable to believe what she had heard. "Voldemort's gone?"

"I killed him. I think."

"What happened?" Ron demanded. "How did…" His voice trailed off as he picked up the staff and ran his hands along it.

"The Evanescent Spell," Harry muttered, taking the Horcruxes from them and placing them in his lap. "_Amoria._ I used it against him."

"Love," Hermione whispered, and then she flung her arms around his neck. "Oh, Harry," she muttered, "you did it. You won."

"Not yet."

They looked at him sharply, and he gestured at the four items in his lap. "I have to take care of these."

Hermione looked worried. "You're too weak, Harry. Let me do it."

"No."

"Harry…"

"I said no." His words were calm, but they held a frightening power that neither of them could ever remember hearing in their friend's voice. They glanced at each other.

"I have to do this alone."

Ron sighed. "Then do it," he said softly. "Go to the world of Swift Light and come back as fast as you can. Do it now."

"I'm not coming back," Harry whispered.

There was a moment of silence, and then Hermione, feeling an empty abyss open in her heart, burst into tears. "Don't say that," she begged. "Please, Harry, don't say things like that."

He laid a hand on her shoulder and stood up. "My work is done. I'm going to destroy the Horcruxes, and I'm not coming back."

She pulled him back down. "No!" she said vehemently. "You're not doing it."

Ron looked frantically from Harry to the Horcruxes in his hands. "You're not… you're not serious?"

Harry met his eyes, and Ron read the answer in them. "No," he croaked hoarsely.

Harry glanced over his shoulder. There were people coming, wanting to investigate the source of the light. "I have to," he whispered. "I have to go now."

"Sirius and Lupin are coming," Hermione said hurriedly. "Wait until they get here, and they can do it. They're strong enough…."

"No," Harry said. "I don't want to have to say goodbye."

"Harry, stop talking like that!" she pleaded, her tears mingling with the rain. "You're not going to die!"

He silently held the Horcruxes up. "I love you," he said hoarsely, gazing at both of them with longing sort of acceptance and determination in his eyes. "Whatever happens, wherever I go, I'll never forget you."

"Harry—"

"Thank you," he whispered, laying a finger against her lips and gazing between her and Ron, "for everything, both of you. I love you."

"Harry!" Ron shouted, grasping his arm, but it was too late. His friend's lips were already forming the words.

"_Propero Luminarium!_"

Then there was a brilliant flash of pale yellow light, and Ron's hand was clutching at thin air.

Harry was gone.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

Sirius saw the flash of light as he reached the fence. He glanced at Remus, who gave him a worried look and grasped the top rail to pull himself over. Sirius followed suit, dropping down behind his friend, who was already running towards two dark shapes that were crouching beside a prism-shaped headstone, blurred by the rain.

"Harry!" he called.

They figures looked up, and neither of them was Harry. Ron and Hermione looked stricken, their faces pale in the dim light of the gray, dreary dawn. "What happened?" Lupin demanded, coming to a halt beside the tombstone. "Where's Harry?"

Ron and Hermione turned their heads to look at each other, and the latter started sobbing quietly.

"He's… he's gone," Ron finally said, the shock and grief evident in his voice.

"What are you talking about?" Sirius snapped. "Gone?"

Ron swallowed. "He said he killed You-Know-Who," he whispered, the tears breaking into his voice. "And then he said he was going to destroy them and he wasn't coming back…"

Remus looked shocked. "What spell?" he asked hoarsely.

"_Propero Luminarium. _An Evanescent Spell."

Remus felt his knees buckle, and he sank against a smooth tombstone. "_Propero Luminarium,_" he repeated softly. Ron nodded.

He put his head in his hands, and his shoulders began to shake. "He said he wasn't coming back?"

"I don't know why," Hermione sobbed, pressing the back of her hand to her mouth. "Why wouldn't he come back? I don't understand!"

Sirius, for the first time Remus remembered, looked truly frightened. "What does that mean, Remus?" he asked quietly. "Why would he say he wasn't coming back?"

He shook his head, trying to fight the feeling of overwhelming grief that threatened to overcome him. "He was weary," he whispered. "He was tired of fighting, tired of pushing on. He wanted peace. He knew that once he got there, he wouldn't be able to make himself come back."

"Why?" Ron asked bitterly. "Why wouldn't he, if he had the strength?"

"Maybe he didn't," Sirius whispered, sinking to the ground. "Maybe he was… worn out. Maybe he had no strength left."

"But he loved us," Hermione said tearfully. "He would try to come back to us…"

For this Lupin had no answer. The rain had stopped, and the clouds were parting. He gazed up at the sky, which was steadily growing brighter with the coming sun.

"He said he killed Voldemort," Sirius whispered, running his hands through a small pile of ashes. "And now he's destroyed the Horcruxes. It's all over. We won…. We _won._"

Ron, his vision blurred, looked up sharply at Sirius. There was a hole, an empty, black abyss where Harry had once been, and it hurt more than any pain he could ever remember. "At too great a price," he whispered. "Too great a price."

"We have work to do," Remus muttered, forcing his emotions away. There would be time later to grieve. "Come on." He helped Sirius up and started back towards the battle scene, but he paused momentarily, turning back around. As though in a daze, he knelt beside the tombstone that Ron and Hermione stood beside. Everyone's eyes followed his gaze.

Hermione's breath caught in her throat. "His parents," she whispered.

"Lily and James," Sirius and Lupin breathed.

"Oh, Harry," Ron sobbed.

No one spoke for several long minutes. No one could speak. Each was alone with his or her own whirling, screaming, rushing thoughts. Harry Potter had battled the Dark Lord, as the prophecy said, and Harry Potter had come out victorious… and alive. But then he given his life to finish the job, to secure the rest of the world's safety against the most evil wizard in centuries.

"The world isn't worthy of his sacrifice," Sirius whispered.

Remus looked up and laid a hand on his friend's shoulder. "Then let us endeavor to remedy that problem. Come on."

He led the way out, this time through the gate, and back to the battle, which had resumed when the flash of light had disappeared. They plunged into the fray, Remus fighting through the thick tangle of people to the center of the battleground. He leapt up onto a pile of rubble, pointed his wand at his throat, and muttered a spell.

"Stop!"

His voice ripped through the melee, shaking the very ground that they stood on.

"Death Eaters! Your master is dead! Voldemort no longer lives, and you are defeated! Surrender now and we will spare your lives!"

The fighting stopped, and a wave of shock seemed to spread from where Remus stood outward. The Death Eaters exchanged frightened glances, and they tossed down their wands and held their hands in the air. Some people began crying in relief and joy, other simply sank to their knees, unable to believe that it was all over. At first, many thought he was lying, but after ten minutes had passed and Voldemort still hadn't shown up to contradict the words, they were forced to face the truth. Some came to their senses sooner than others, and they started to help the wounded, move the dead, and round up the defeated Death Eaters.

It was over. They had won the battle.

But Harry was gone.

A/N: I told you that you weren't going to like it. I know, I'm malicious and heartless and downright cruel, but… this was how it had to happen. Remember Frodo? He couldn't keep going. He was too changed, and so he had to leave. Unfortunately, there's no Gray Havens for Harry to go to, so he had to be satisfied with the world of Swift Light.


	50. The World That Lived

I sit down at my computer one last time to work on this story. It's a sad, nostalgic sort of feeling; I'm finally writing the ending. After a year and a half of working on this it, I'm pulling it all together and putting and end to it all. 

This chapter has a lot of italics in it, and that wouldn't be a problem except that sometimes the italics don't carry over when you upload a document. So if there's something you think should be italicized, then it probably is… originally. So, here it is…

Hobey-ho, let's go.

Chapter 50

The World That Lived

The last blossoms were falling from the trees, and green was everywhere. The hot sun was disappearing for the day, hovering on the distant horizon. Spring was over, and summer had arrived in a flurry of leaves and green grass and heat.

There was a lone figure walking slowly up a gravel road towards a black fence. The fence surrounded an expanse of green grass, out of which jutted many old, faded tombstones. The man lifted the latch, opened the gate silently, and slipped inside. He knelt tenderly in front of one of the headstones and laid a small, fresh lily beside it.

_Not very many know why I picked today to come here, _the man thought, gazing at the simple headstone. _Only you and Remus and Ron and Hermione. It's one of the days that stands out most prominently in my memory. It was in your third year, the year that we first met and you accused me of betraying your parents. _The man glanced sadly towards another headstone that sat a few feet away, one shaped like a prism lying on its side. _You had no idea how much that hurt me. But when I told you what really happened, you didn't shun me like the others had. You believed me. And you risked your life to save me from a fate worse than death, a fate that would have caused me to suffer until the day my body ceased to function. _He smiled. _You reminded me so much of James. So noble, so determined. Suddenly it seemed like I had my best friend back. Molly wasn't that far off the mark when she accused me of treating you like you were your father. _

The man leaned back and gazed at the summer sunset that cast the sky into hues of yellow and orange and pink. _You have no idea what you did for us, Harry. It didn't happen immediately, but slowly and surely, we've recovered from the years spent in the terror of Voldemort's reign. You saved the wizarding world. I don't know how you feel about that, but every time I hear your name mentioned, my chest puffs out a little more in pride. _

_It's been hard. Voldemort's death didn't solve everything because there were problems in the wizarding world that sprang up without his help. Remus still faces terrible discrimination, though he has gotten some of his rights back. And Tonks still loves him…_He grinned reminiscently. _That's all he cares about. She's pregnant again, you know. Their little girl, Andromeda, is already two. She calls me Uncle Sirius, which makes me want to laugh and cry all at once because that's what you learned to call me just a month before Voldemort attacked your house. _

_Six years is a long time, Harry. It's not the same without you. No one's the same. The Weasleys are a whole lot quieter than they used to be. Fleur's death was just the beginning. Charlie's behavior—he had been hit by the Imperius Curse, did you know that?—devastated them. Then the revelation that Percy was a Death Eater. And then, in the same night, you and Ginny and Arthur died. It took Ron a year to recover from that—and that was just to the point where he would eat; he's still solemn and silent a lot of the time—and even Fred and George didn't handle it very well; their store closed for nearly six months after that one fateful night. That was a real blow, Harry. Arthur and Ginny and you. Bill was hurt, but at least he recovered…_

_There's a headstone for you on the Hogwarts grounds. That's the one that attracts all the tourists. We put this one here next to your parents, in a very obscure place, so that we could have it to ourselves. I guess that sounds kind of selfish, but… to the ones who really knew you, this is more than just the place where the Great Harry Potter vanquished the Dark Lord. It's the place where we saw you last, the place where our best friend lived out his last minutes. It's personal for us._

The man pushed himself off the ground. The three tombstones that were lined up side by side bore the names Ginny Weasley, Harry Potter, and Lily and James Potter. Sirius' vision blurred with, and he looked away.

Then he left the graveyard, shoulders hunched, walking into the fading sun.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

_Oh Harry, I wish you could see…_

It was spring. The flowers were in full bloom, and the buds on the trees were just beginning to burst with blossoms. The last vestiges of winter were fading away with the remains of the snow that bordered the roads, and the air was finally growing warm.

Remus Lupin knelt in front of the tombstone and brushed away the dirt that had accumulated there over the winter. It was a simple one, a round marker made out of granite with the name _Harry Potter_ inscribed on it, underneath which were the words _Friend and Mentor._ His body wasn't actually here—they had no idea what had happened to his body—but it was where they all came, at least once a year, to remember…

_I have another daughter, Harry. _He smiled bitterly. _I never thought I'd be a father, but here I am with two little kids who are the joy of my life. We named our second one for your mother. Lily. Tonks wasn't so happy about it—she says that Lily Lupin will be a very easy name to make fun of—but she gave in eventually, after the baby went two weeks without a name because we couldn't agree on one._

_I chose today to come here because, even though you don't know it, this is the anniversary of the first time you said my name. Alright, so you said "Wemus," but close enough. James was so proud. You were only about nine months old. Then they went into hiding, and I only saw you once more before that Halloween. The next time I saw you, you were thirteen years old and you had fainted because a Dementor had forced you to recall your worst memories. I remember the shock I felt at first, seeing you, because I thought—just for a moment—that you were James. You looked so much like him. _

Remus sighed as he crouched beside the tombstone. _I saw you for the first time and I never dreamed I'd lose you. I had no idea what was in store for you. I tried to protect you, as much as you didn't want protecting. I saw as the rest of your mentors fell around you, and I understood why you were so averse to it—you didn't want me to die as well. That touched me, but it wasn't about to stop me. I would willingly have performed your final spell in your place and let you live on. You deserved a life where you could live in peace, after nearly eighteen years of struggling, a life where you finally didn't have to worry so much. _

_That night was torture for all of us. When we realized you were gone, that was only the beginning. We found Arthur's body first, then Hagrid's, then Ginny. Hagrid, solid, unfazed, always-going-to-be-there-for-us Hagrid; it was almost harder to accept his death than yours. And Ginny. Percy explained everything that happened that night, before we all arrived, in court. He still has three years of his sentence to serve, but I think he's truly sorry. When Bokonovsky was put in after Rufus Scrimgeour, Percy remained his assistant, and he was slowly drawn in._

_Ginny. Fiery Ginny, impish Ginny… she was dead. Sirius told me about that scene he walked in on, where you were kissing each other, and he told me about how he thought you looked so much like James and Lily, and that made me cry, more than I've cried in years._

_Sirius, after twenty-two years, finally saw his brother, but he was dead. I think that must be how Voldemort figured out that you had the Horcruxes—he kidnapped Regulus and forced it out of him. It crushed Sirius, but I think it was just the straw that broke the camel's back; he started falling apart when he realized you were gone. He's much better now, but I don't think he'll ever really be the same._

_You have no idea how much it's changed, Harry. Everyone's grown up. Neville's an auror—can you believe that? Neville!—like his parents, and Hermione's teaching Transfiguration at Hogwarts. And Ron… Ron is a Healer. I don't know what he wanted to be before, but as soon as you and Ginny and his father died, he was resolved on being a Healer. _

_Tonks told me I had to be home by lunchtime or she would make sure my daughter never wanted to see me again. Usually she's joking when she says stuff like that, but I wouldn't want to take the risk—I love her too much._

He stood, running a hand through his hair. _Goodbye, Harry. You can't know how much it hurts me—hurts all of us—to look around and know that you're not there. Even now, after six and a half years, it still hurts._

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The earth was alive with resplendent browns and oranges and yellows, and a crisp, clear wind whipped playfully through the colorful trees. The streets were covered in fallen skeletons of the yellow and orange leaves, which danced around in the breeze, vibrant and alive. Autumn was underway.

_Only Ron knows why I picked today of all days. Everyone else thinks it's because October thirty-first is the day you and your parents were first attacked, the day that Lord Voldemort gave you that scar on your forehead. For me, it's something different. That Halloween feast in our first year, the one you came looking for me when you realized I was out there with the troll. That day when Ron finally cast the Levitation Charm correctly._

_The day that we became friends._

_Oh, Harry. You had no idea how much that meant to me. Being the best in the class sets you apart, and my only other friend was Neville, dear, sweet Neville who was never very good at anything except being a friend. You and Ron were the last people I would have thought I'd end up befriending, and yet, it all fit so perfectly._

_I told you two years ago that we were married, Ron and I. He had just finished Healing school, and I had been offered the post as Transfiguration teacher. Professor Lasley was a Death Eater, you know? That's how the Death Eaters got into the school twice during our second year. She even admitted at her trial that she had sent you a faulty spell, posing as one of your students, that was meant to kill you. It didn't work, apparently. Professor Vector, the Arithmancy teacher, is the new headmistress, and she's asked Remus to return to his Defense Against the Dark Arts post, but he refuses every year. He knows what kind of outrage would follow if a known werewolf got a teaching position at Hogwarts._

_Well, I'm taking this year off teaching. Why? Because I'm going to have a baby. I, Hermione, am going to be a mother. Can you believe that, Harry? There was no debate between us; if it's a girl, we're naming her Ginny, and if it's a boy, he's going to be Harry._

_Ron says he likes to remember me in our fifth year because that was the year I finally directly opposed the teachers by helping you to set up the D.A. I've changed so much since I first met you two, and most of it has been because of you and Ron. I don't know how to thank you. Most people, those who didn't know you, revere you for your final act, for your last spells, for the moment when you finally vanquished Voldemort. But that's not what I think of when I think of you. That's not the most important to me. You touched my life more by being my friend for seven long years, and that left a far more lasting impact on me than the few moments it took you to finally defeat your lifelong enemy._

_I'm glad it's over, but we paid a steep price. Half of the Order was killed in that final battle. Arthur Weasley and Hagrid were just two of the ones who would really matter to you. I'm glad neither you nor Hagrid ever knew the other had died; it would have devastated you both. Every moment of that battle is burned into my memory, from the time I Disapparated and appeared in Godric's Hollow to when Remus stood up on a pile of rubble and demanded that the Death Eaters surrender because their master had been killed. What he didn't say was that Harry Potter had died as well. When the world realized that, I thought it would go into mourning, but it only gave most people more cause for celebration; now you were a martyr._

_But not us. The defeat of the darkest power in a century hardly seemed like a good thing in light of what we had lost. The Weasley family was devastated. Ron had trouble eating for a year, and Bill went to America and didn't come back until just a few months ago. It's been hardest on them, I think. Ron's lost his sister in law, his father, his best friend, and his sister, and one of his brothers is serving time in Azkaban for joining Voldemort. Mrs. Weasley took it very hard, but she's done her best to stay strong throughout it all._

_No one misses you as much as Ron and I do. We grew up with you, and then, suddenly, you were gone. Life must go on, but we'll never forget you. You were too much a part of our lives to simply move on without pain and without memories._

_It's Ron's turn now. He waited outside the cemetery to let me have a chance to talk to you. He gets pensive and quiet whenever we come here, but I suppose I can't blame him. I love you, Harry._

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Ron watched as his wife laid a bundle of flowers beside the smooth, round gravestone and walked slowly towards the gate. He kissed her briefly, and then he took a place between two headstones, sitting on the grass.

_I'd never thought I'd lose either of you, let alone both of you in the same night. It was never real until that night. I'd seen others die, others even as closely related to me as Fleur, but their deaths still seemed unreal, as though I had never really known them in the first place. That night, I lost my father, my sister, my best friend, and one of my brothers. Percy wasn't dead, but he was as good as. Or worse. I never really came to terms with the fact that he joined You-Know-Who; I never liked the arrogant prat, but I never thought he'd actually be a Death Eater, either. We thought Bill was going to die—he was hit by a spell that nearly killed him. He's fine now, though. He just got back from America. He's thirty-two now, but he can't seem to settle down._

_As much as I hate myself for it, sometimes I wish You-Know-Who had kept on living, and we'd been able to keep you and Ginny and Dad. I know it's selfish, but I can't help it. It was not a price I paid willingly, Harry. The world rejoiced when the news got out that Voldemort was dead, but those of us who knew you couldn't even crack a smile. No one else understood the sacrifice you made._

_Sirius finally gave up and had Grimauld Place torn down, and he built another house on the property. Hermione and I live there during the summers, when she doesn't have to work, and we'll be there this year, too, now that she's having a baby. I'm going to be a dad, Harry. I wish mine were around to see his first grandchild. Mum's happy, though I think she would be ecstatic if Dad were here to share it with her. Fred and George offered to hold a baby shower for Hermione, but she declined; I guess she knows them too well._

_When people look at me, they see a responsible adult. But that's not what I want to be. I want to go back to our third year and sneak around underneath your Invisibility Cloak with the Marauder's Map in hand. I want to creep down the to kitchens and gorge ourselves on pumpkin pasties and chocolate frogs. Don't tell Hermione this, but half of me doesn't want to be a father—the half of me that's still a kid._

Ron sighed. _I know I'd rather have you back, but you don't know what you did for this world, Harry. Everyone seems so full of life again. No one's worried that they're going to be murdered if they step out of their doors, and life is back to how it was the first time they thought You-Know-Who was dead. Except this time, it's permanent. It's no longer dreary or dull or dead. You've turned it into a world that lives._

_You were once the Boy Who Lived, Harry. I was jealous once because you were so famous. But that time passed with our fourth year, and I saw how much trouble and pain it caused you, and, though I no longer wanted your life, I would have willingly traded mine for yours to spare you the pain of living it. Oh, Harry, your life was full of so much pain, and yet you bore it without complaining. You had your faults, but I think you were stronger than any of us, even Lupin, who's always referred to as the epitome of forbearance._

_I miss you, and I'll never be able to replace you. Ever. The world will move on and forget, and you'll live on in history as the great martyr who died to save the world from the Dark Lord. You'll have books written about you, scholars who study you, and a hundred years from now, Professor Binns will give his students notes on you, and there will be History of Magic exam questions on you. The memory of your deeds will be preserved forever in stories and books._

_But the memory of you lives only in our hearts._

--THE END--


	51. Acknowledgements

I'm done. After a year and a half of excitement, frustration, sadness, happiness, impish grins, and every other feeling that accompanied writing this, I'm through. I don't think I ever really expected to be done with this; it was a perpetual, never-ending job that didn't really have an end in sight until about five chapters ago. And it's over. The real seventh one is about to come out, and I can't wait to read it, but I don't think I'll ever really forget this one, either. It'll mention something about how Sirius is dead, and I'll be confused for the next five minutes before I realize that he's only alive in my fic.

I know, I said there'd be exactly fifty chapters, and this is number fifty-one, but then, it's not exactly a chapter. It's my acknowledgements. I'm not the only one who made this story possible. So here goes:

I'd like to list everyone who has ever reviewed this story, but you know who you are and I want you to know that I'm very grateful towards you. I'd like to thank Scoutcraft Piratess, who has doggedly read and reviewed almost every chapter from the beginning, faithfully pursuing it even when it was depressing or dull or poorly-written. And then there's Marpessa, my first-ever reviewer, who kept me going through the first ten or fifteen chapters, who suggested where I required suggestions, prodded where I needed prodding, and praised where I deserved praise. SkyHighFan kept me on my toes from about chapter seventeen onward; it might've taken four years if not for him.

Then there's J. K. Rowling. I know she doesn't know it, but I stole her book and her ideas and made them my own. Without her and her wonderful books, this never would've happened. Of course, there's always the chance that if _she_ hadn't thought of Harry Potter, _I_ would have, and then I'd be the one making millions of dollars, instead of the one writing fanfiction and posting it online… but I'm not bitter…

I have to thank my characters for going through everything I've put them through. I try to make them come alive, and even if I don't succeed in doing that on the paper, they're very much alive in my head, and it's almost like it's real human beings I'm torturing here. Everyone's suffered, and ultimately, it's all my fault. So thank you, Harry, Ron, Hermione, Ginny, Remus, Sirius, Professor McGonagall, the Weasleys, Jorden, Draco, Snape… and everyone else.

And finally, I want to thank Juneaua, who showed me the whole other world out there, the one that complemented, clung to, went hand in hand with the world of books that I already loved. She showed me the vast, limitless possibilities in writing, in putting my own ideas onto paper (or, in this case, hard drive), not just soaking up the stories of other authors. She introduced me to my passion. Thanks, Mackenzie.

And so we go.


End file.
